


I needed peace

by biblionerd07



Series: broad-shouldered beasts [10]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Future Fic, Healing, Homophobia, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18293702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: Mickey's frustrated, because so far his healing seems to be baby steps forward and big steps backward. But he wakes up one day and realizes those baby steps have gotten him far enough along to take a big leap.





	I needed peace

Mickey’s been restless at night lately. It’s not that same need to check on Yevgeny like he got right after Terry died; sometimes that still happens, but it’s been almost six months and Mickey’s mostly okay now. On the day-to-day Terry front, anyway; no one’s ever described his mental state overall as okay and probably never will.

But for some reason he keeps waking up early. He’s never been a great sleeper by any stretch of the imagination, but since he started therapy he got up to four-hour blocks. Now he’s back to waking up every two hours or so, and he doesn’t know why.

Today, Mickey’s awake at three am. It’s still pitch-black outside, because even May doesn’t get light that early. After his eyes adjust to the darkness, Mickey spends some time looking over at Ian’s sleeping face. He’s been working extra lately because someone quit and someone had a baby and a few people called out sick, and Mickey’s worried about him. Just low-level worry, the kind he can keep in check.

Ian’s not getting pissed at him for checking up anymore, so that helps. Mickey thinks part of how anxious he used to get over Ian’s routines and meds and eating habits stemmed from not letting himself say anything. He’s really learning how much saying shit out loud can help. It’s crazy, and he never would’ve believed it before he started trying it, but it turns out Kim actually knows what she’s talking about with this kind of shit.

Mickey’s just lying there, looking at Ian and listening to him breathe, and he’s breathing easy and his head is quiet. That doesn’t happen a lot, especially when he’s awake in the middle of the night. Usually if he’s awake at three in the morning, he’s panicking about something or he had a nightmare. He thinks saying he had a nightmare makes him sound like he’s a five-year-old, but Ian gives him a dark, disappointed look when he makes fun of himself for that, so he’s trying to reign it in. Vocally, anyway. He’s still not good at the whole talking to himself nicely in his head thing.

As if he can hear Mickey disparaging himself, Ian’s eyes flutter open. He blinks a few times, trying to orient himself, and Mickey just watches him. He can feel himself smiling. He just feels good right now. Safe. Happy. _Loved_.

“What time’s it?” Ian mumbles. Mickey brushes his hand through Ian’s hair.

“Like three,” he says quietly.

“Why’re you awake?” Ian asks, getting concerned. “Bad dream?”

That sounds even more like he’s a baby, but Mickey lets it go. He shakes his head. “Good dream, I think.”

Ian rubs his eyes. “What?”

“Just watching you sleep.”

“Huh?” Ian is barely coherent. Mickey likes that Ian needs to have his morning run and half his one cup of coffee in the morning before he’s fully awake. Ian’s used to sleeping easy. Those times he should’ve been more careful, in those flophouses with Monica and God knows who else, he wasn’t doing much sleeping, and he sure as hell wasn’t paying much attention to his own safety. He doesn’t get how Mickey goes from dead asleep to completely awake and jumping out of bed with a creak in the floor. He knows _why_ , but he can’t do that. Mickey’s glad, though it makes him nervous sometimes. Ian and the kid both sleep deep, and Mickey feels like someone’s got to stay on lookout.

“You’re my good dream,” Mickey says. He undercuts the romance a bit by adding, “You dumbass.”

A soft, sleepy smile takes over Ian’s face. “You’re fucking cheesy,” he says delightedly. He always loves when Mickey gets weird and sappy like this.

“Shh,” Mickey jokes. “No one knows that. I got a rep to maintain.”

Ian laughs. “Cheesy Mickey is just for me.”

“Just for you,” Mickey promises, nuzzling his face close to Ian’s. “For the rest of our lives.”

“Good,” Ian says through a yawn. “No one else deserves my cheesy Mickey.”

Mickey snorts, because that’s a weird thing to say, but Ian’s not fully awake and Mickey loves him enough that he’d let it go anyway. Ian pulls him closer, eyelids drooping again. Mickey strokes a hand down Ian’s arm and kisses his eyelids closed.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers.

“Mm,” Ian agrees. “You, too,” he manages to say, but he’s slurring like he’s drunk so Mickey knows he’s more asleep than awake now.

“I will,” Mickey tells him, just in case he can still hear him. He strokes Ian’s cheek and watches him some more. Ian doesn’t have as many freckles as he used to. His shoulders are still covered, and in the summertime Mickey loves to rub aloe into Ian’s inevitably-burned skin and try to kiss every freckle. It’s basically impossible, but fuck if they don’t both enjoy the attempt. But the freckles on Ian’s face have faded. Mickey vaguely remembers Ian back in grade school, whole face covered in freckles even in the winter. He was already losing freckles by the time they started fucking, and it seems like each summer Mickey notices fewer and fewer freckles splashed across Ian’s nose and cheeks.

It’s kind of sad. He liked all those freckles. He knows Ian doesn’t miss them, though; he always says the freckles make him look even younger than he is, and he’s still got a pretty boyish face. He wants to grow a beard so everyone knows he’s a man. Mickey keeps telling him it’s obvious he’s _all_ man. Ian submit to this joke with a dry eye-roll.

Mickey wonders if Ian’s freckles are going to disappear completely. Will there come a year when his nose and cheeks are completely bare? Mickey will mourn their loss. Maybe they do make Ian look a little younger, but Mickey likes it. Not in a gross, creepy way like all those pedo fucks Ian dealt with before. Mickey just likes looking at Ian and remembering the determined kid who shoved a tire iron at him and slowly taught him how to love.

He really _is_ fucking cheesy. Waking up in the middle of the night always makes him weirder, more emotional or something. Probably because he’s tired. But still. He likes that he can look at Ian and remember what he looked like when they were teenagers. They lost some years, and Mickey’s always going to wonder what those years could’ve held for them, but they had early years and they have the rest of their lives stretching on forever here.

He sighs and nestles in closer to Ian. He needs to go the fuck to sleep. He’s cranky enough when he’s well-rested, and he’s got therapy tomorrow so he’s going to be all strung-out either way. He can’t help it, though. He’s awake, and Ian’s face is right there, and it’s hard to sleep with such a nice view.

Mickey scoffs at himself. Okay, that’s too fucking corny even for him. He gives himself a little mental shake and settles down. The last thing he sees before he falls back to sleep is the fan of Ian’s eyelashes against his cheek, and Mickey’s glad he’s going to see that while he falls asleep every night for the rest of his life.

 

“Alright, Mickey, what’s on the agenda today?” Kim asks. Since he has insurance now, he doesn’t have to go the free clinic anymore, and it’s fucking amazing. Kim’s office has a _coffee maker_ right there in the waiting room and he can have as much as he wants. And Kim purposefully puts a schedule buffer between sessions so he never has to see any other patients. It’s not like Mickey has much to compare it to, but he thinks this is as close to good as therapy can get.

“I don’t know,” Mickey says. He shrugs. “I, uh…I haven’t been sleeping a lot. Again.”

“Nightmares?” Kim asks, concerned.

“No,” Mickey says. “That’s what’s weird. I mean, I don’t wake up because I’m freaking out, and I don’t freak out after I wake up. I’m just awake.”

“What do you do when that happens?”

“Watch Ian sleep,” Mickey admits. “Maybe that’s creepy.”

Kim kind of laughs at him, but not in a mean way. “I don’t think it’s creepy,” she promises him. “You don’t know what’s waking you up?”

Mickey hesitates. He has an idea, but he doesn’t know if he’s right. “Well, I think everything’s good right now,” he says. He stops.

Kim raises her eyebrows. “Too good?” She guesses.

Mickey blows out a breath. “I don’t know. I’m trying to be more optimistic now.”

“Trying to be optimistic still takes work,” she points out. “It’s not going to happen overnight.”

“I guess.”

Kim tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “Mickey, what does that mean? You guess what?”

Mickey sighs, frustrated. “It hasn’t _been_ overnight. I thought I was supposed to be better by now. It’s been like a fucking year since I started this therapy shit.”

“What’d I tell you about getting better?” She demands.

“Yeah, okay, it’s not linear, it changes, I’ll never be normal, whatever.” He shrugs. “I just want to be over all this shit.”

“Any shit in particular you’re especially anxious to get over?” Kim asks. He can tell from her voice she just honed in on something and now she’s trying to coax it out of him without freaking him out and making him run. He wishes she’d just cut the bullshit and tell him. But he has to admit he doesn’t exactly always take things well when someone else points them out.

“I don’t know,” he says. He makes himself stop and take a deep breath. He tried that thing where he wore a rubber band on his wrist and snapped it when he was getting pissed, but it just pissed him off more and wasn’t helpful. He had the same problem with trying to just pinch himself whenever he was getting pissed. Also, one time he accidentally pinched himself so hard he left a bruise and Ian had a conniption because he thought Mickey was “self-harming” instead of just a fucking dumbass who didn’t know how hard to pinch. It was a whole ordeal. Deep breathing seems an easier path, even if it doesn’t work very well.

Kim waits him out, holding back any comments until he opens his eyes again. That’s the nice thing about therapy. She never gets impatient at him. “If there’s one issue from your past you could snap your fingers and erase, what would it be?” Kim asks.

Mickey scoffs. “Well, _you’re_ the one who said they’re all fucking connected.”

“Okay, yes, that is true,” she admits. She rolls her eyes a little. “Come on, work with me here.”

“God, I don’t know,” Mickey groans. “The fucking marriage one. I just really want to fucking get married.” He feels his eyes go wide. “Oh, shit,” he says, surprised by his own words. “I didn’t know that was the one I was gonna say.”

Kim looks kind of self-satisfied, like _she_ knew that was the one he was going to say. It makes him want to flip her off, but he’s busy taking all this in. “You said you watch Ian sleep when you wake up at night,” Kim says. “I think you’re getting impatient to get married, and subconsciously, your brain is sort of testing you. You wake up and watch him as a way to decide if you’re ready.”

“I wake up and watch him because we’re in the same fucking bed and I’m too lazy to go anywhere else,” Mickey shoots back half-heartedly. He sighs. “How’m I supposed to know if I’m ready? Fill out the goddamn form again and hope I don’t run away?”

“I don’t think that’s the most sustainable strategy,” Kim says dryly. “I think you could try talking it over with Ian first.”

“Why’s your advice always end up with me talking about my feelings?” Mickey grouses. “Like, I already gotta talk about this shit with you, and now you’re saying I gotta go talk about it more.”

“You don’t have to,” Kim points out. “Everything I say here is a suggestion. You get—”

“Out what I put in, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mickey finishes, because she’s always telling him that. He rolls his eyes, but he gives her a smile because he thinks he’s sort of been a dick this whole time. He’s a dick a lot of the time in these sessions, but he’s assuming she’s used to that. “But what if I talk to Ian and I’m still not ready?” He sounds like a fucking pussy, his voice all small and worried, but he tells himself not to care.

“Mickey,” Kim says gently. “Has Ian been mad at you for not being ready before?”

“I’m not worried about him being mad,” Mickey tells her. “I know he won’t be mad. I just don’t want to hurt his feelings again. I’m trying…” He shrugs. “I’m trying to be better.”

“I know,” she says simply. “But don’t you think he’d rather you talk to him about your concerns than hide them?”

Mickey blows out a breath. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “I guess you’re right.”

“Well, I already knew I was right,” she says smugly. This time he does flip her off. She laughs.

 

When Mickey gets to Fiona’s house, she’s hustling some guy out the door. The dude’s shirt is buttoned up all wrong and Fiona’s pulling her own shirt over her head. Mickey raises his eyebrows.

“Well, shit,” he says, amused. “I can come back later.”

“No, it’s fine,” Fiona says, harried. “He’s leaving.”

“Who’s this?” The guy asks, giving Mickey an up-and-down look. Mickey glares at the guy. He doesn’t need some fucking afternoon delight sizing him up.

“Who the fuck’re you?” Mickey shoots back.

“Mickey, knock it off,” Fiona says. “This is Luke and he’s leaving.”

“But who’s that?” Luke demands.

“None of your fucking business,” Mickey supplies.

“What’d I say?” Fiona asks, exasperated. She turns back to her nooner. “He’s my brother-in-law and he’s gay and you don’t get to worry if I’m fucking anyone else anyway.”

“Wha—” Fiona closes the door in his face before the dude can get out another sentence. She turns back to Mickey with an eyeroll.

“You’re unpleasant,” she tells him, but then she yanks him in and gives him a hug.

“I’m aware,” he promises, following her into the kitchen. “You didn’t have to kick him out for me.”

“Wasn’t for you,” she tells him. “He would’ve overstayed his welcome if I let him.”

“Need me to handle it?” Mickey asks, cracking his knuckles.

Fiona snorts at his tough-guy routine. “I look like I need you to handle it?”

“Alright,” Mickey acquiesces, because Fiona really can handle herself well in a fight. “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

“If he needs an ass-kicking, I promise you are second on my list to call.” When she sees his confused look, she shrugs. “Well, V always gets first dibs on ass kicking.”

Mickey can accept that. He looks at the plate of smashed cookies on the table and gives Fiona another questioning look. “Liam?” He guesses.

“That was your kid,” she says. “Yesterday after school.”

“Yevgeny smashed up your cookies?” Mickey asks. He’s more confused than anything else. Yevgeny can scream like a fucking banshee, but property damage is far from his go-to anger response. He mainly just cries.

“He tripped,” Fiona explains. “Landed with his face in them. His little glasses were all covered in smudges.” She’s laughing at the memory and Mickey laughs at the mental picture.

“Did he do that sigh and say, _oh no, my fucking glasses_?” Mickey asks, imitating Yevgeny. The kid cannot keep his glasses clean, and he gets annoyed about it like fifty times a day.

Fiona laughs harder. “Maybe it makes me a shitty person, but that little kid saying _fuck_ is hilarious.”

“His teacher finally stopped sending notes home about it,” Mickey says. “We told him not to say it at school and he said he doesn’t, but nothing gets him madder than getting his glasses dirty.”

“Aw, he’s a good kid, though,” Fiona says, because she always feels guilty making fun of the kid even a little bit. Mickey doesn’t. Kid’s a weirdo, and Mickey doesn’t think it’s wrong to laugh about it. As long as he’s not being overly mean about it, and Ian keeps in check on that front. “Did you get his score back from that state test thing?”

“80th percentile,” Mickey says, unable to hold back his pride. His kid’s fucking _smart_. They’ve got proof.

“Oh, damn!” Fiona says. “Atta boy, Yev.”

“Put it up on the fridge,” Mickey confesses. “I mean, it’s kinda stupid. Who the fuck’s gonna look at our fridge? But still.”

“I always put everyone’s stuff on the fridge,” Fiona says. “Makes ‘em feel good to know you think they did a good job.”

“Well, I bought him two fucking ice cream scoops, too, so he better know.”

Fiona snorts. “You bought him two ice cream scoops because that kid’s got you wrapped around his little finger.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey says. He’s smiling, though. He kind of likes the idea of everyone thinking he’s a pushover for his kid. It’s sure as fuck not something anyone would’ve thought of Terry. He’s not comparing himself to Terry quite as much anymore, which is nice. He likes to avoid thinking about Terry as much as possible.

“Alright,” Fiona says conspiratorially. “Let’s get into it.”

“Okay,” Mickey agrees. They both grab the biggest chunks of cookie they can find and start dunking them in their coffee. “So Carl’s new girl is majoring in fucking neurobiology.”

“No _fucking_ way,” Fiona cries. “The fuck’s she doing with Carl? She got religious parents?”

“Think she’s writing a paper on his brain,” Mickey reveals.

Fiona shrieks with laugher. “God, if she can find out where we went wrong, more power to her.”

“Hey, he’s doing alright,” Mickey says. He’s got a soft spot for Carl. He knows how it feels to use violence to express yourself, and he definitely knows how it feels to try to fix your life after fucking it up. On a much larger scale than Carl, of course, but still.

“Aw,” Fiona says, reaching over and pinching his cheek. It’s so fucking annoying. It’s the exact same tone Ian uses to tease him. “You love Carl.”

“Fucking Gallaghers and loving people,” Mickey grouses. He kicks her under the table. “Your turn. Dish.”

“Lip’s dating someone,” Fiona says, voice hushed even though they’re the only ones here.

“Like I give a fuck about Lip,” Mickey scoffs. But this is her contribution, so he asks, “She a nerd like him?”

“She’s gonna be a lawyer,” Fiona confirms. “Hope he marries her. Having a lawyer in the family’d be useful.”

“Thought Debbie was going to law school,” Mickey says.

“Sure, but I don’t have time to wait for that,” Fiona points out. “This chick’s done next year. Debs could change her mind in two weeks. Last year she wanted to be a doctor, remember that?”

“No,” Mickey says truthfully, because he definitely doesn’t.

“Well, she did.” Fiona shrugs. “Glad they all got choices.” She seems a little wistful. It makes Mickey’s stomach hurt a little bit. He has no idea how different his life would be if he’d had someone looking out for him like she looked out for all her brothers and sisters. But no one seemed to be looking out for her much. They all did the best they could, of course, but she took over as their mom so early they all sort of took it for granted.

“You gonna go to college now too?” Mickey asks. “You could.”

Fiona looks down into her coffee. “Not much point now, right?”

Mickey kicks her again. “Hey, fuck that,” he snaps. “You gonna say that if I want to go back?”

“You want to go back to school?” She gives him a skeptical look.

“Course I don’t fucking want to go back to school,” he says with a laugh. “I didn’t even like school the first time. I’m just saying. If I really did, you’d be all fucking cheerleader about it. Why’s it good for me but not for you?”

“I’m older,” Fiona tries.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Mickey says. “You don’t want to do it, fine, but don’t pussy out and make excuses.”

Fiona laughs a little. She reaches over and slugs him in the shoulder. “You’re gonna be my cheerleader, huh?”

“Not gonna wear a fucking skirt or anything,” Mickey says.

“How ‘bout the pom-poms?”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Mickey laughs. “God.”

Fiona’s eyes are starting to look a little misty. Mickey kind of wants to run away from that, but he doesn’t. He’s growing or something. “I just never—I mean, after I dropped out, I figured college wasn’t something I should even think about. Long as I got the kids to go, that was fine.”

“They’re going,” Mickey points out. “When’s it your fucking turn? You gave up everything for those ungrateful little fuckers.”

Fiona laughs a little. “I wouldn’t call them ungrateful.”

“Nah, Ian thinks the sun shines out your ass,” Mickey agrees. It’s not a lie. Ian’s a lot more practical than he was when he was fifteen, but his first solution to most problems is still to call Fiona. “Still. You didn’t have to do that.”

Fiona shrugs. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, you did, though,” Mickey contradicts softly.

Fiona swipes at her eyes and blows out a breath. “Woo,” she says. “Okay. That was heavier than we usually get, huh?”

“Whatever, last week you were all up my ass about being hard on myself,” Mickey reminds her. He pitches his voice higher. “Mickey, love yourself. Mickey, you’re perfect.”

“I sure as hell never said that,” Fiona snorts.

“You implied it,” Mickey says haughtily.

“Alright, fine,” Fiona says. “You go to real therapy, I have this.”

“You could go—”

“Stop pushing therapy on me!” Fiona says, laughing. “God, you and Ian are like those fucking Mormon kids who go door-to-door.”

“They coming to your door?” Mickey asks. They never even went down the Milkovich street. Terry probably would’ve kicked their asses if he saw them even going by the house.

“Not since that time I answered topless.”

“You sure ain’t shy about whipping your tits out,” Mickey says, shaking his head. He quickly adds, “I’m not judging you. Don’t tell Debbie I said that.”

“Oh, she got you with one of her slut-shaming lectures, huh?” Fiona sighs wearily. “I had to sit through _two hours_ about internalized misogyny.”

“I can’t even fucking pronounce those words.”

“I spent the whole time thinking about fucking that guy down the street,” Fiona confides.

“Which one?” Mickey asks. “Not the blond dude on the corner, right? The dogwalker?”

“Why, what’s wrong with him?” Fiona asks.

“Dude, he’s fucking gay,” Mickey laughs. “He’s so gay.”

“No he’s not!” Fiona protests. “What, he hit on you or something?”

“Nah.” Mickey shrugs. “I can tell.”

“You telling me you got gaydar now?” Fiona asks incredulously.

“Fuck you, I always did,” Mickey says, cracking up laughing. “How the fuck you think me and Ian found each other?”

“Was that gaydar or horniness?” Fiona says, making Mickey laugh harder.

“Sometimes it’s the same fucking thing,” he admits. She cracks up.

“You really can just tell?”

“Alright, I mean, I saw him with another dude once. I could tell they were fucking.”

“Damn,” Fiona says. “You know what they say, all the good ones. Alright, fine. What about the guy with dreads two blocks over?”

“Never seen him,” Mickey admits. “Go with God or what the fuck ever.”

She laughs again. “Maybe you should go find the Mormon kids.”

Mickey snorts. “Hey, dudes, want to officiate my gay wedding?”

Fiona stops laughing, eyes getting bigger. “We getting to the point where we need someone to officiate?”

Mickey chews at his lip. He tips his head. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “Maybe.”

Fiona squeezes his arm. “Oh my God!”

“I said _maybe_ ,” he says. “I haven’t talked to Ian yet. I don’t—I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Fiona says. “He’s not gonna be mad if it’s not time yet.”

“I’m not worried about him being mad.” Why does everyone think Mickey doesn’t know Ian? He knows Ian better than all of them. Even Fiona, though he’s not asshole enough to point that out.

“Oh,” Fiona coos. “You don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Goddamn, shut up,” Mickey mutters. “I’m gonna fucking marry the guy, I don’t think it should be a fucking revelation I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I know I’m a piece of shit but I thought people knew I was a little better than that.”

“Hey,” Fiona says quietly. She taps a finger on his arm. “Drop the hostile thing with me. You know that isn’t what I meant.”

Mickey sighs. “I used to hurt his feelings all the damn time,” he points out softly, crumbling a cookie between his fingers. “And I didn’t care. Well…” He sighs again. “I cared. But I didn’t let myself care or think about it or anything. Blah, blah, blah, shitty home life, abuse, whatever.”

“Succinct,” Fiona says dryly.

“I just don’t know how you’re supposed to…” He shrugs helplessly. “Like, I’m supposed to tell him about shit, but some shit’s gonna hurt him, right? So how do I find the line?”

“I don’t know,” she tells him. “I am not the person to turn to for relationship advice. The most honest I ever got with a man was fucking Jimmy Steve, and look how that turned out.”

“Well, that was on him, not on you,” Mickey points out. He’d like that dude to come around again just so he could kick his ass. He always wanted to anyway, because he had douchey hair and almost landed Ian’s ass in juvie, and then Fiona told him all the shit he pulled that Ian hadn’t told him or known about and made Mickey _really_ want to kick his ass.

“I know,” Fiona assures him. “But still. I haven’t exactly been rolling in healthy relationships.”

Mickey snorts. “Fuck, who has? I just picked the first gay kid I could find and we fought our way up.”

That makes Fiona laugh, but she gets serious again fast. “I’m just saying, Ian loves you. And he knows you love him. _He_ knows better than anyone you’re not gonna hurt him just to hurt him, you know? I think it’s better if you talk shit through and have hurt feelings for a day or two than hide something and freak out later.”

“I’m predictable, huh?”

“Well, if I was helping Yev with his math homework and we were identifying patterns…” Fiona teases. Mickey huffs.

“Yeah.”

They’re both quiet for a minute, eating more cookie chunks. Fiona gives him a look. “Okay, but how sure are you that he’s gay? And _how_ gay? You think I could turn him?”

“Don’t let Debbie hear that,” Mickey warns. “She’s got a whole fucking PowerPoint about the gay stuff. I’m really fucking gay and I didn’t know half the shit she was saying. She _emailed_ it to me later because she said I needed to study up.”

“I mean, shouldn’t you be used to that feeling?”

Mickey throws a cookie chunk at her just as his phone starts ringing. It’s probably Russell from the garage, asking if he can pick up someone else’s shift. For some reason, Russell thinks Mickey is trustworthy or something. Russell’s kind of fucked in the head, too, because he got drafted for Vietnam and got caught trying to desert and got in big trouble for that, so he’s cool with Mickey fucking off to a dark, quiet room to just breathe for a few minutes every once in a while.

Mickey’s considering not answering, because he doesn’t want to go into work right now, but he glances down and sees it’s the kid’s school. “Oh, shit,” he says, because one thing he picked up on pretty quick as a parent is unexpected midday phone calls from the school are never good news. “Yeah?” He answers.

“Is this, um, Mickey Milkovich?” Some lady asks.

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “Something wrong with my kid?”

“Well, yes,” she says. “He’s here in the principal’s office. He was fighting with another student.”

Mickey blinks. “Fighting?” He asks incredulously. Yevgeny’s tiny. Heavy doors knock him out of commission. Sure, Ian was going to show him how to throw a punch, but none of them expected him to ever do anything with the knowledge, and then Frank had shown up and sent that plan to hell anyway.

“Yes, and now he’s possibly facing suspension.”

“Hold the fuck up,” Mickey snaps. “No way he was fighting. Not for no reason, anyway. I’m coming down there.”

“Okay,” she says meekly. Mickey hangs up on her.

“Fighting?” Fiona asks. “Yevgeny?”

Mickey shakes his head. “I gotta get over there,” he says. “She said they’re gonna fucking suspend him.”

“Schools are really cracking down on that shit these days,” Fiona commiserates.

“No fucking way he punched someone who didn’t deserve it, tell you that right now,” Mickey says. “Alright, see you later.”

“Good luck,” Fiona calls after him.

Mickey calls Ian while he walks to the school, and Ian says he’ll call Svetlana on _his_ way over. “Don’t get crazy,” Ian warns. “At least not until I get there.”

“I make no promises,” Mickey mutters. If this were anyone else, Mickey would just hang up unceremoniously, but since it’s Ian, Mickey gives him warning. “Love you. See you there.”

“Okay, bye,” Ian says, sounding amused. Mickey waits an extra second and is rewarded with Ian adding quickly before Mickey can hang up, “Love you, too.” He doesn’t know why Ian always thinks he’s going to hang up before he hears that. He’s gotten to the point where he won’t even try to hang up until Ian’s said it.

Mickey does his best not to bust into the school looking pissed as all hell, but he loses all cool when he walks into the office and sees Yevgeny sitting on a chair outside the principal’s office, holding a wad of toilet paper to his nose, blood splattered down his shirt. He’s missing his glasses.

“What the _fuck_ happened?” Mickey demands. Yevgeny starts crying pretty much immediately, so Mickey’s pretty sure he was sitting there on the verge of tears and seeing Mickey set him off. Mickey pulls the kid’s hands away from his face and tips his head up to check out the damage. His nose has already stopped bleeding and it isn’t broken, at least, and it doesn’t look like he’ll have a shiner. He does have a split lip, though, and it’s already starting to swell. “You got some fucking ice for this or what?” Mickey snaps at the lady behind the desk.

She kind of gulps and scurries off. Mickey doesn’t even feel bad. Getting ice should’ve been common sense. He turns back to Yevgeny and takes the seat next to him. It takes the kid about half a second to crawl into Mickey’s lap.

“What happened?” Mickey asks again, a little calmer this time. Not much, though. This is not the first time Mickey’s seen the kid beat up, but he didn’t care as much the first time. Not like he’s heartless or anything, but he’d only been back a month and they just hadn’t bonded much or whatever. Now, though, Mickey is boiling with rage.

Someone hurt his kid. Someone _hit_ his kid. His kid is sitting here bleeding and swollen and Mickey’s seeing red.

Yevgeny’s breath is hitching as he tries to stop crying. “Brad,” he says, muffled in Mickey’s chest. Liam was enough to get the older kids off Yevgeny last year, but Brad’s been a thorn in Yevgeny’s side all along. He’s in Yevgeny’s class, and Liam couldn’t fight a kid that young, but so far Brad hasn’t escalated to physical confrontation.

“He punched you?” Mickey asks, rubbing the kid’s back. It always makes him feel better when Ian does that to him when he’s freaking out.

“Yeah,” Yevgeny says. “And he broke my glasses.”

“Little fucking shitbag,” Mickey hisses.

“Dad?” Yevgeny says quietly. He looks worried.

“What’s up?”

Yevgeny bites his lip. “I punched him first.”

Mickey would’ve been less surprised if Yevgeny had told him he found a dinosaur egg on the fucking playground. “You what?”

The kid looks miserable. He’s still got tears in his eyelashes and his face must’ve been dirty, because he’s got tracks down his cheeks. “He was saying—he was being mean. And I couldn’t take it anymore and…and I punched him.”

“He’s been picking on you a while, huh?” Mickey asks. Yevgeny nods, still looking shamefaced. “Hey,” Mickey murmurs. “You know what? I’m proud of you.”

“You are?” Yevgeny looks up fast. “But I’m in trouble.”

“You think I give a fuck what your school says?” Mickey asks. “He wouldn’t leave you alone. He’s been an asshole since last year, right? You tried being nice and you tried using words, and it didn’t work, so you stood up for yourself.” Mickey shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not supposed to tell you that’s a good thing, but I think it is. You don’t gotta let him kick you around like trash just because people say fighting’s a bad thing.”

“ _You_ said fighting’s a bad thing,” Yevgeny reminds him.

Mickey shrugs again. “Nah, I don’t think I said that. I said fighting’s not always the right thing. But sometimes it is.”

“Are Mama and Ian coming?” Yevgeny asks.

“Yeah, they’re on their way,” Mickey promises.

“Do you think they’re gonna be mad?”

“No,” Mickey says confidently. “Not at you. I think we’ve all got some shit we’re gonna say to that principal if he tries getting you in trouble.”

Ian comes in then, and he clenches his jaw when he sees Yevgeny. “Yev, who did that?”

“Brad,” Mickey spits.

“That fucking kid,” Ian says. He drops to his knees in front of Mickey and checks out Yevgeny’s face. “Well, Yev, I think you’ll live.”

“He broke my glasses,” Yevgeny says. This seems to be his biggest gripe.

“We’ll get you new ones,” Ian promises. “They got ice for his lip?”

“I bitched out the chick behind the desk and I thought she went to get some, but maybe she just ran away.”

Ian huffs. “I told you not to get crazy until I got here.”

“I was barely meaner than my normal talking voice,” Mickey defends himself, making Ian laugh a little. The principal’s door opens, and some kid comes out. He’s got blood on his shirt, too, his own split lip, and some scratches on his face Mickey instantly recognizes as something Mandy must’ve taught the kid. That was always her go-to.

“Shit, kid,” Mickey breathes. “You fought hard.”

“Are you Yevgeny’s parents?” The principal asks.

“Yeah, but his mom’s on her way, too,” Ian says. “We shouldn’t start without her.”

Brad looks at Yevgeny warily and crosses the room to sit in the farthest chair away from them. Mickey juts his chin at him. “You didn’t call his parents?”

“He’s the victim,” the principal says, and all the red comes flooding back into Mickey’s vision.

“No, he’s not,” Ian says incredulously. “Are you kidding me? This kid’s been picking on Yev since last year!”

The principal holds up a hand to stop Ian, which annoys Mickey. He doesn’t like this dude telling Ian to shut up, even nonverbally. “We have a zero-tolerance policy for violence,” he says. “Yevgeny’s never complained about Brad bullying him.”

“Did you ask the teacher?” Mickey asks. “The kid talked to the teacher.”

“She said he mentioned not wanting to be in Brad’s group because they didn’t get along,” the principal admits. “But Yevgeny never said Brad was bullying him.”

Mickey looks down at Yevgeny, who’s shrinking down against his chest. “That true?”

Yevgeny shrugs. “I don’t know,” he whispers. Mickey’s heart is squeezing painfully. He doesn’t like seeing the kid like this, all scared and feeling bad. And anyway, how could the kid go ratting Brad out and not make it worse? These people don’t seem to know anything about how schoolyard justice works.

Svetlana comes in just then, and Mickey braces himself for the inevitable explosion she’s going to bring. She doesn’t disappoint. The second she sees the kid, she launches into a Russian diatribe Mickey understands across the language barrier. Judging by the shock on the principal’s face, he gets it, too.

“Let’s discuss everything in my office,” he says.

Mickey carries the kid in. When they all sit down, Svetlana takes him from Mickey and smooths down his hair, kissing his face and murmuring at him in Russian. He starts crying again.

“Look at him,” Mickey says disgustedly. “You’re trying to say _he’s_ the bully here?”

“Look, I know,” the principal says. “Brad’s record isn’t exactly spotless, but everyone’s saying Yevgeny hit Brad first.” He says the kid’s name wrong. Mickey hates him.

“It’s Yevgeny,” Ian corrects coldly. “And just because Yev hit him first _this_ time doesn’t mean he’s not the perpetrator.”

“Well, Yevgeny’s refusing to tell us what provoked it,” the principal says. “So all we have is Brad’s side of the story, which is that Yevgeny attacked him out of nowhere.”

“There’s no way that’s true,” Mickey says.

“Yev, what happened?” Ian asks gently.

Yevgeny’s sobbing now, big, gulping sobs that sound painful. “He was saying mean things.”

The principal holds his hands out helplessly. “I need more than that.”

“What was he saying, kid?” Mickey asks.

“I don’t wanna say it,” Yevgeny wails.

“Zhenya,” Svetlana murmurs, continuing low and right in the kid’s ear.

Yevgeny sniffles and sits up a little straighter. “I _didn’t_ hit him for no reason,” he insists.

“What was the reason?” Mickey presses.

Yevgeny’s face is all pinched up and he’s still crying. “He was saying mean stuff about you, Dad.” Mickey slumps a little. That’s what happened the first time, too. He hates that he’s so fucked up the kid has to deal with shit at school. He told the kid to stop caring when people say shit about Mickey, but maybe the kid takes it personally. But then Yevgeny adds, “And Ian.”

“Ian?” Mickey echoes. “What the fuck was that asshole saying about Ian?”

“That’s a seven-year-old you’re talking about,” the principal points out, pained.

“What’s your point?” Mickey sneers. He turns back to the kid. “Come on, kid, you gotta tell us. Remember what I told you? That whole no snitching thing goes right out the fucking window if you’re gonna get in trouble for someone else being a shithead.”

Yevgeny exhales loudly. “He said you guys are _gross_ ,” he reports angrily. His little hands are balled into fists. “Because you’re gay and he said _his_ mom and dad said it’s bad and you’re going to _hell_. And he said you can’t get married for real like his mom and dad are married because gay people don’t love each other and our family isn’t _real_.”

Mickey thinks it’s a little anticlimactic, all truth told. He’s used to taking beatings for the gay thing; he really doesn’t have time to give a shit what some Bible-thumping loonies have to say about hell. It can’t be any worse than growing up with Terry, so he’s not real worried. And he’s met a few people like that. They spew a lot of shit, but if Mickey stood toe-to-toe with them and raised his fists, they’d be gone in a heartbeat.

But the kid isn’t used to shit like that. As far as he’s concerned, dudes loving dudes is nothing out of the ordinary, so hearing some asshole on the playground say it’s gross was probably a slap in the face. And Mickey isn’t really sure what the kid knows about hell or anything like that, but it can’t feel good to hear someone say all that about his family.

“Oh, my,” the principal breathes.

Ian raises his eyebrows at the guy. “So he’s not getting suspended, obviously.”

The principal rubs his eyes. “We do have a zero tolerance policy…” He says weakly.

“Nah,” Mickey contradicts, shaking his head. “See, I don’t know if you know this, but I spent six years in the joint. And you now what’s big in the joint? Law shit. Guys trying to get out, doing appeals, shit like that. I don’t know a lot, but I know I could call one of those free lawyer groups and tell ‘em my kid got picked on for me being a homo and you want to suspend him for defending his pops. What you think happens after that?”

The dude looks almost green at this point. Mickey’s sure he can see the impending lawsuit and the nightmare that would bring with it. He’d probably get fired right off the bat. Still, Mickey can’t help but push a little more, because he’s fucking pissed. His kid had to hear that shit and now this asshole acts like they’re going to punish him? Not fucking happening.

“You want to know what I was in prison for?” Mickey asks, voice low. He’s leaning close to the desk, close to the principal. “Attempted murder. ‘Cause someone hurt my family.” He shrugs blithely. “Just letting you know.” Ian’s shaking his head beside Mickey, looking up at the ceiling, but he’s biting down on a smile and not butting in to make Mickey shut up, so he must not be too mad about it.

“Are you threatening me?” The principal blusters, voice all high as he clearly tries his best not to shit himself.

Mickey shakes his head. “I say anything about threatening you?” He asks innocently. “I was just clueing you into our family situation.”

They have a little staring match. Mickey raises an eyebrow and the principal swallows hard. “We’ll have to call Brad’s parents,” he finally says. “But I don’t think—no, Yevgeny won’t be suspended.”

“Hey, we really appreciate that,” Mickey says, smirking.

“You can tell Brad’s parents we won’t even sue for the broken glasses,” Ian adds. He smiles darkly. “Call it Christian charity.”

That makes Mickey laugh. He loves when Ian gets fucking snarky like that. It gets him hot. Svetlana passes the kid to Mickey and stands up. “You will make Brad apologize?” She asks expectantly. Her tone leaves no room for argument. “Write letter to say sorry. To _all_ my boys.” She gestures toward Mickey and Ian, too.

“Well—”

“School has zero tolerance for fighting but okay for homophobia?” She adds.

“No, of course not,” the principal says.

“Okay.” Svetlana shrugs. “So letter.”

The principal sighs. “Yes, he’ll write an apology letter.”

Svetlana gives him a sickly-sweet smile. “Very nice of him.”

They leave the principal probably hating his life even more than an elementary school principal would anyway. Mickey hoots with laughter as soon as they walk outside. “Damn, Svet, I thought I scared him shitless and then you just gave him the fucking evil eye and he folded.”

She huffs. “Schools very worried with homophobia now,” she points out. “Very bad trouble if press finds out.”

“You called us your boys,” Ian teases. “You love us.”

Svetlana rolls her eyes. “Get in car.”

“You _looove_ us,” Ian croons.

Svetlana shakes her head, but she’s laughing a little. She won’t admit it unless one or all of them are having some kind of breakdown, but she definitely does love them.

 

The kid’s quiet all the rest of the day. He plays half-heartedly with his dinosaurs. He can’t read without his glasses and it’s going to take at least two days for a new pair to be ready, so Mickey reads to him again, like he used to do before the kid could read. Even when Mickey says he can pick as many books as he wants, Yevgeny only grabs one and he doesn’t even take his time deliberating. He climbs into Mickey’s lap while he reads and presses his face into Mickey’s shoulder. He doesn’t even try looking at the pictures.

When Mickey finishes the book, he sets it aside and keeps one arm around the kid. “Hey,” he says. “You’re not in trouble, you know?”

Yevgeny doesn’t say anything for a second. When he does speak, he sounds confused. “Are you really going to hell for being gay?”

Mickey sighs. He is definitely not equipped to handle this conversation, but he can’t just hand it off to Ian or Svetlana. The kid’s right here asking him. He takes his time trying to figure out how to answer. “Well, kid, I’m not even sure hell’s a real thing.”

Yevgeny pushes back a little to look at Mickey. “Really?”

“I’m guessing Brad’s family goes to church a lot,” Mickey says. “Some people go to church, and I think churches always tell people there’s heaven and there’s hell.” Mickey shrugs. “I don’t, uh, I don’t really know anything about church and all that religion shit. We didn’t do that in my family. Your mom might know some more.” He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Svetlana actually go to church, but she was the one insisting the kid get dunked when he was a baby, so she probably knows more than Mickey.

“We never go to church,” Yevgeny says.

“No, we do not,” Mickey agrees under his breath. “I don’t really believe that stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like…God,” Mickey says. Is he supposed to tell a seven-year-old he doesn’t believe in God? But then he thinks, well, why the fuck not? Brad’s fucking parents get to tell their seven-year-old someone they don’t even know is going to hell for finding love and happiness, so Mickey can tell his it’s all bullshit.

“You don’t believe God?” Yevgeny asks.

“Nope,” Mickey says. “If God’s real, I think he’s got a lot of fucking explaining to do.”

“Explaining?” Yevgeny asks.

Mickey runs a hand through his hair. “You know my dad was a real bad guy, right?”

Yevgeny nods solemnly. “We’re not sad he died.”

“We’re not.” Mickey shrugs. “All those churches say God’s this big, all-powerful guy who sees everything, right? If he can make the fucking earth, why’d he let me get beat on my whole life, you know what I mean? Seems like a pretty shitty dude if he could’ve stopped it and didn’t.”

Yevgeny considers this. “Yeah, that’s pretty mean.”

“Yeah.” Mickey shrugs again. “And there’s a lot of churches that say God hates gay people. They say we’re going to hell for it.”

“But _why_?” Yevgeny asks, distressed.

“I don’t fucking know,” Mickey admits gently. “That’s another reason I think God’s bullshit. First he lets my dad get away with all that shit and doesn’t help me, and then I’m supposed to be in trouble for finally getting something good? I don’t fucking think so. Ian makes me real happy, you know that?”

“I know,” Yevgeny says. “You smile all the time with Ian.”

Mickey laughs a little. “Yeah, I do. But I cry with Ian, too. I know that’s kinda confusing, but that’s a good thing for me.”

“Crying’s a good thing?” Yevgeny asks skeptically.

Mickey sighs. “My dad didn’t ever let me cry. He’d hit me for crying, so I stopped doing it. But crying’s not a bad thing. Sometimes shit sucks, and crying…” He tries to remember how Kim phrases it. “Crying lets you, uh, release your feelings.” He shrugs. “Might make more sense when you’re older.” He doesn’t know if that’s true, because it still doesn’t totally make sense to him, but whatever.

“So God isn’t real and you’re not going to hell?” Yevgeny checks.

Mickey shrugs. “I don’t know, kid. I just don’t think so. But you can believe whatever you want. If you want to start going to a church or something…” Mickey shrugs again. “Well, maybe your mom will take you.” Mickey sure as hell won’t.

Yevgeny thinks all this through. “How come he said you and Ian don’t really love each other?”

That part does actually make Mickey mad. He doesn’t care if people say he’s going to hell, but saying their love isn’t real—that’s bullshit. Mickey’s never felt anything realer than his love for Ian.

“You remember you knew that word, homophobia?” Mickey asks. The word feels clunky in his own mouth. He doesn’t think he’s ever used it. “That’s what that is. It’s not always people bashing you over the head. They think we’re not the same as them, they think we can’t love each other. But me and Ian love each other a whole fucking lot. I don’t know if you can get it when you’re just a kid, but I sure as hell hope you find someone someday who makes you understand it.”

“Our family _is_ real,” Yevgeny says. That one’s not a question, and Mickey’s heart swells a little. He’s glad no matter what other confusion Yevgeny’s feeling, he’s still sure of that.

“It sure fucking is,” Mickey promises. “We’re a real family, and we’re not going away. Got it?”

“Got it.” Yevgeny sighs and swallows hard. “Dad…” He stops. He’s biting his lip hard, brow furrowed hard. It would almost be funny, the way this seven-year-old looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders, except Mickey doesn’t find anything about this funny right now.

“You can tell me anything,” Mickey assures him gently. “You don’t gotta, though. If you don’t want to talk about something, that’s okay.”

Yevgeny touches the scar on Mickey’s cheek and then reaches up and touches the one on his forehead from falling down the stairs after Terry died. “If I punched him first, am I a bully?” Yevgeny asks seriously. His lip is trembling. “I don’t wanna be a bully.”

“Oh, kid, you couldn’t be a bully if you tried,” Mickey says, wrapping his arms around Yevgeny. Mickey feels a little choked up at how worried Yevgeny is about it. He’s a sweet kid, a sensitive kid, and definitely someone whose ass Mickey would’ve kicked every day if they’d been in school together. He’s glad. He’s always been afraid the kid would be like him, angry and mean and hurting people, but he’s the total opposite.

“Your dad was a bully,” Yevgeny says quietly.

Mickey closes his eyes for a second. It’s a crazy oversimplification, but it’s not technically wrong. Mickey’s pretty sure that’s how Ian explained Terry to the kid. “He was,” Mickey agrees. “And I was, too. When I was younger.” There’s no denying that.

“So I’m gonna be a bully?” Yevgeny asks.

Mickey shakes his head. “No,” he says. “You’re nice, kid. You don’t _want_ to be a bully. Just because I was and my dad was doesn’t mean you have to be. You can be whatever the hell you want.”

“I want to be like you,” Yevgeny says, sending a sharp pain in Mickey’s heart. That’s Mickey’s worst fucking fear. Then he adds, “Like you now. Nice.” The pain gets sharper. Sometimes Mickey can’t believe the kid looks at him and sees someone nice. And that’s really what Yevgeny thinks, too—he genuinely thinks Mickey is a nice person. It’s fucking terrifying. It makes Mickey want to live up to that, to throw off all his piece of shit instincts and be the guy his kid thinks he is.

“You’re way fucking better than me already,” Mickey tells him, throat tight. “And standing up for yourself and your family doesn’t make you a bully. Brad’s the fucking bully. He picks on people and makes them feel bad, right?”

Yevgeny nods. “He makes Izzy cry a lot because he says she’s ugly.”

Mickey can’t confirm or deny that Izzy’s ugly, because he doesn’t remember which little rugrat is Izzy, but that pisses him off. Joey used to pull that shit on Mandy all the time, telling her she was stupid and ugly and fat and boys were going to hate her all her life. Mickey knows that’s part of the reason Mandy used to run around with such asshole losers who treated her like shit. She never thought she could do any better.

“You stand up for Izzy?” Mickey asks.

“I give her a hug,” Yevgeny says. “Is that standing up for her?”

Mickey shrugs. He doesn’t know if that counts. The only standing up for someone he knows is fighting. But he’s supposed to always validate the kid, whatever the fuck that means. “I bet that makes her feel better.”

“Do I gotta fight Brad every time he picks on people?” Yevgeny asks. He looks worried. “I’m not very good at fighting, Dad.”

“You don’t gotta fight him every time,” Mickey promises. “And I think he might be kinda scared of you now.”

“Really?” Yevgeny asks.

“Oh, yeah. You kicked his ass, man. Think you’re better at fighting than you realize.”

Yevgeny bites his lip. “I don’t think I liked it.”

Tears spring into Mickey’s eyes. He didn’t like fighting at that age, either. But when he complained about some kid picking on him at school, Terry slapped him and told him to quit being a pussy and handle it like a real Milkovich. “That’s not a bad thing,” he assures the kid. He wants so badly for the kid to stay like this forever, to worry about being a bully and cry over hitting someone.

“But…” Yevgeny sighs. “I’m not tough like you.” Mickey’s heart drops down to his toes. He hates that he’s done anything to make the kid think he needs to be all hard and go around shoving people. Mickey doesn’t want to do that shit anymore, and he sure as hell doesn’t want the kid doing it.

“Hey,” Mickey says softly. “Listen. You _are_ tough. You don’t gotta go around fighting people to be tough, you hear me?” He doesn’t know how to explain what he means. “Being nice—it’s not easy. Takes a lot of guts to always be nice.”

“It does?”

“Sure,” Mickey says. “It’s way easier to be an asshole and only care about yourself. You never have to worry about anybody else and you do whatever you want.”

“Like sometimes I let Tyson use my green marker even though I want it because that’s nice?” Yevgeny asks.

Mickey holds in a snort, because that’s pretty goddamn low-level. But the kid’s seven. It’s not like he’s worrying about nuclear launch codes. “Yeah,” Mickey says. “You’re tough ‘cause you’re nice. That’s what I’m trying to do now. And it’s a lot harder to be tough like that than when I was an asshole all the time.”

“Okay, Dad,” Yevgeny says. He snuggles in close to Mickey again. “Brad’s a bully, not me, right?”

“Right,” Mickey assures him. He kisses the kid’s hair and squeezes him tight before hoisting them both off the bed and setting Yevgeny down. “You gotta go brush your teeth for bed.”

“But my mouth hurts,” Yevgeny protests, following Mickey out of the room.

“Well, I don’t really care,” Mickey says. “Don’t brush your teeth, then. Your mom’s gonna care, though, and if you don’t brush your teeth you get nasty breath.”

“And you get cavities,” Ian adds, coming up behind them in the hallway. “Then the dentist has to use a drill on your teeth.”

“For what?” The kid asks curiously. “What’s the drill do?”

Mickey raises his eyebrows at Ian, amused. “Yeah, what’s the drill do?”

“Uh…” Ian huffs, caught out. “Well, okay, I don’t really know, but that’s what happens. They drill into your tooth and put a filling in.”

“Does it hurt?” Yevgeny asks.

“Yeah,” Ian tells him.

“Okay, I’ll brush my teeth.”

Ian laughs. “Didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Just be careful with your lip,” Mickey says. “The other side of your mouth’ll be fine, and the top’s probably okay. Just go slow around the part that hurts.”

Yevgeny sighs. “I’m glad I’m not in trouble.”

“Yeah, and Brad’s writing you an apology letter,” Ian reminds him.

Mickey doesn’t think a letter’s much use to anyone, but at least it’s something. “Fucking Brad ain’t getting off the hook.”

“Not on Dad’s watch,” Ian says. He’s saying it like he’s joking, but Mickey can see pride in his eyes. Ian loves when Mickey gets macho like this. It makes Mickey a little worried sometimes. They talked about that South Side piece of trash thing he said all those years ago, and Ian’s promised over and over he loves when Mickey’s macho behavior is all bravado with no fists to back it up, but Mickey can’t help but wonder.

Ian fell in love with a guy people ran away from just because they saw him coming down the street, a guy who handled shit fast and brutal. Now he’s got a guy who cries multiple times per day and can only work out with a punching bag, no sparring, because hitting an actual person again makes him want to puke. It’s got to be pretty different.

Mickey’s still thinking about it when they go to bed. It reminds him of the other thing he’s been thinking about for three days now, the question of whether he’s ready to get married. Fiona and Kim both acted like him talking about getting married is a big breakthrough, but it isn’t. He and Ian have talked about it a few times in the eight months or so since they decided it’s in the game plan. Not just hinted at it or referenced it; they’ve sat down and talked it through. They know they’re going to the courthouse instead of having a whole ceremony, and they know they’re only inviting their family, and they know everyone’s going to throw them a big fucking party but they’re not dancing. He’s called Ian his fiancé a few times now. None of this meant he was ready before, so how can he know if he is now?

“You good?” Ian asks, brushing a hand through Mickey’s hair.

“I’m…” Mickey hesitates. He’s not _good_ -good. But he’s not _not_ good. He doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t know if saying he’s good even is a lie. This whole listening to his feelings thing is a lot fucking harder than he thought.

“Not sure?” Ian guesses. “That’s okay, too. You worried about Yev?”

It’s so tempting to just say yes and leave it at that. But that’s not really true, either. Mickey _is_ worried about Yevgeny, a little, but that’s not what’s on his mind.

“It’s not about the kid,” Mickey says. “I mean, I don’t like what all happened, but I think he’s gonna be okay. I…well, it was something from therapy the other day.”

Ian searches his face. “You want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey says. “Maybe not…yet?”

“Okay,” Ian says with a little shrug. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“It’s about you,” Mickey admits. So maybe he is ready to talk about it. Sometimes his mouth just decides things for him and then all the rest of him has to fucking deal with it. “About us.”

“Oh.” Ian licks his lips. He looks at Mickey, and then he looks away. He nods. “Okay.”

“It’s not bad,” Mickey assures him. “It’s good. I think. If it’s—I mean…” He sighs. “Ian, I’m a fucking mess.”

Ian laughs a little, slipping an arm around Mickey’s waist. “Hey, you’re a tidier mess than you were a year ago, right?”

“Am I?” Mickey asks. He’s not fishing for compliments here. He genuinely doesn’t know if that’s true.

“Fuck, Mickey, _yes_ ,” Ian says. “Last year, if you were worried about something with us, would you tell me you were worried but maybe not sure if you’re ready to talk about it?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. Ian has a point. “Okay, no.”

“No fucking way,” Ian says. “You’d pretend nothing was wrong but wouldn’t make eye contact for two weeks until you snapped and had a panic attack.”

Mickey huffs. It’s not an unfair assessment, but it is a little embarrassing to hear it put that way. “I don’t think—I mean, have I ever been fucking good at eye contact?”

Ian laughs. “Well, you are now.”

“Local man learns basic human shit. More at 11.”

Ian laughs hard at that. “What the fuck was that? You think that’s how news people sound?”

“I know that’s how news people sound. Go to fucking YouTube and look up that dude who does the weather for channel seven. I sound exactly like him.”

Ian’s laughing too hard to speak for a second. “That is so specific.”

“Fucking watched him every goddamn day in the can!” Mickey tells him. “Big J got to run the TV and always wanted to fucking watch it.”

“Big J?” Ian echoes incredulously. “He was some kind of gang boss and his name was Big J?”

“Well, he was the size of a fucking mountain,” Mickey tells him. “Never found out what the J was for. We weren’t exactly passing notes in the hallway in between him beating my ass.” Ian’s face tightens a little at the reminder that Mickey spent a lot of his six years getting jumped. It brings Mickey back to his worry about the fighting stuff. “Hey,” he says. “Um. I know you said you—I mean, I’ve changed, and you said you like how I’ve changed.”

“I do,” Ian assures him. “I love you.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey says. “But—I mean, I’m so different now. And I…I mean, with the fighting stuff, don’t you ever—do you ever miss how I was before?”

Ian purses his lips while he actually considers Mickey’s question. “I don’t miss you flying off the handle about everything and fighting anyone who looks at you wrong,” Ian says slowly. “I guess the only thing about it now is I don’t like how much you worry about it.”

Mickey chews his lip. “You saying I’m too insecure?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Ian scolds lightly, rolling his eyes. “I don’t like that you stress about it.”

“You’re not worried…” Mickey sighs. This is really the part that’s been going in circles in his brain. “Like you’re not afraid someone’s gonna try to give us shit and I won’t be able to handle it?”

Ian tilts his head a little. “Mickey…” He shakes his head, blowing out a breath. “First of all, I didn’t fall in love with you because I needed you fighting for me. Sure, I think it’s hot to see you knock some asshole around, especially when you’re doing it because you don’t like how someone treated me, but that’s not—I don’t _need_ that. In our lives right now, we don’t really have to worry about that, do we?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey says. “Yeah, I guess not.”

But Ian can see he’s not totally satisfied with that answer. “Hey,” he says. “You know why else I don’t worry about that?”

“Why?” Mickey asks worriedly.

“Because there’s no part of me that doesn’t know, if push came to shove, if I really needed you to, or Yev or Lana or Mandy or any of my family, if we really needed you to fight, you would. Even if it made you feel bad and you didn’t like it. You’d protect us, Mickey. I don’t _need_ you to do that for me, but I know you would. Got it?”

He might have a point. Just the thought of Joey going after Ian made Mickey practically homicidal. He probably would nut up in a big way if someone was actually hurting Ian. It makes him feel better. Maybe it’s not totally logical, but knowing Ian believes that calms Mickey down. They fall into silence for a few seconds.

“I’m pretty sure Big J was the name of another one of the dancers at the club when I danced,” Ian says conversationally.

Mickey cracks up laughing. “Some dude was _Big J_ and you were fucking _Curtis_?”

“I was actually fucking Mickey,” Ian tells him mock-seriously.

“Oh, my God, you think that joke never goes out of style.”

“Yeah, because it doesn’t.”

They’re both laughing, poking at each other and snorting and trying to stay quiet so Svetlana and the kid can go to sleep but failing miserably because they can’t stop laughing, and then Mickey looks up at Ian and he’s suddenly got tears in his eyes. “I’m ready,” he says, still smiling. “Ian, let’s get married.”

Ian’s laughter dies off. His eyes go big. “What?”

“That’s the thing from therapy I didn’t know if I could tell you,” Mickey says. His throat’s all tight but it’s not the bad way. He’s so fucking _happy_ right now. “I didn’t want to bring it up in case it was another false alarm.”

“You didn’t want to hurt my feelings,” Ian says softly, putting his hand on Mickey’s face. Mickey’s chest gets all warm, because Ian got it right away. Ian knew.

“I don’t think it’s a false alarm,” Mickey whispers.

“Yeah?” Ian asks, tears in his eyes now, too.

“Yeah.”

Ian pulls Mickey in and kisses him, long and soft and slow. He pulls back and looks at Mickey. “It’s okay if it is,” he murmurs. “It’s okay if we start planning it and you’re not ready. It’s not going to hurt my feelings, okay?”

“It’s not?” Mickey asks dubiously.

Ian laughs a little. “Okay, fine, it will, but not bad, and not for long.”

Mickey frowns. “So… _you_ don’t want to or something?”

“No, I definitely fucking want to,” Ian promises, smiling so wide it makes Mickey giddy. “I’m just saying, I’ll always want to. If it’s next week or next year or next fucking decade. You get what I’m saying?”

Mickey leans in and kisses him again, running his fingers through Ian’s ruffled hair. “I got it,” he says. He knows what Ian’s saying. If Mickey backs out now, it’ll be okay. Ian’s still not going anywhere. No matter how many false starts and false alarms and stutter-steps Mickey takes, Ian’s going to be right there with him.

Sometimes Mickey worries that isn’t fair. What’s Ian get out of all this? Mickey? Some fucking prize. Sometimes Mickey thinks Ian should go find someone better, someone who’s not so fucked up, who won’t string him along and take two giant steps backward for every baby step forward. Sometimes Mickey thinks he should just run off and go into hiding so Ian really will find someone better. He knows that’s not right, that Ian wouldn’t be happier if he did that, and he shouldn’t think that way, but sometimes he can’t help it.

This isn’t one of those times. Mickey feels warm and safe and happy, and Ian’s crying and laughing and kissing him, and all Mickey can think about is that this is theirs forever. Brad’s fucking parents can go to hell themselves. There’s nothing about this that isn’t real.

 

The next morning when they’re all sitting around eating breakfast, Svetlana raises her eyebrows at them when the kid runs off to take a piss. “Loud fucking last night,” she says.

Mickey snorts. “Yeah, we’re getting married.”

She rolls her eyes. “I am not stupid. I remember.”

“No, we’re getting married _soon_ ,” Ian tells her with a giddy laugh. “We’re ready.”

“I am bridesmaid?” Svetlana asks.

“We’re not doing that,” Mickey tells her. “We’re doing it at the courthouse with the judge.”

“What’re you smiling for?” Yevgeny asks, coming back to the table. He definitely did not wash his hands, Mickey can tell, but he’s not going to call him on it. For one thing, Mickey’s in too good a mood, and for another, Mickey doesn’t exactly have the best hand-washing reputation himself, to Ian’s perpetual horror and despair.

“Me and Ian are getting married soon,” Mickey tells him. “Sometime this month, probably.”

“For real this time?” Yevgeny asks.

Ian laughs. Mickey rolls his eyes. “Well, that’s the plan. Who the fuck knows if I’ll stick to it.”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Ian reminds him. He smirks. “I’ll do my best to convince you, though.”

Mickey feels his eyebrows shoot up. “That just sounds like incentive to back out.”

Ian laughs at him. Mickey looks down at the kid and sees him biting his lip anxiously. “Hey,” Mickey says. “You worried about what Brad said?”

Yevgeny looks down at his mostly-empty plate. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Sorry.”

“You don’t gotta be sorry,” Mickey says. “Remember all that shit we talked about? Like…you can have your feelings and not be sorry.” He never knows how to phrase shit like this. But he doesn’t want the kid growing up thinking his feelings are bad. Not like Mickey did.

“But you already told me you love Ian for real and I’m still worried,” Yevgeny says. “How come I’m still thinking about it?”

“Yev, even if you know something, sometimes you still worry about it,” Ian cuts in gently. “Look at Dad,” he teases. “He knows lots of stuff and still worries about everything.”

Yevgeny laughs a little. “Yeah, Dad’s always worried.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but laugh. At least the kid’s feeling a little better, and he knows Ian is absolutely not making fun of him. “You ever think me and Ian didn’t love each other for real before Brad said that shit?”

“No,” Yevgeny admits. “I heard you say it to each other like a million times.”

That makes Mickey flush a little, which is stupid but whatever. He’d also like to make sure the kid knows it takes more than just saying _I love you_ to actually love someone, but he figures they can tackle that when Yevgeny’s not in the middle of worrying about what some pint-sized fire and brimstone dick said about gay dudes.

“Alright,” Mickey says. “We still love each other like that. So you know Brad was wrong.”

“Okay, Dad.” Yevgeny smiles. “Do I get to be the kid who carries the ring?”

“We’re not doing a wedding like that,” Ian tells him. “With all the walking down the aisle and everything.”

“We even doing rings?” Mickey asks, realizing they haven’t talked about that at all.

“I don’t know,” Ian says. “Neither of us could wear them at work.”

“There are different rings,” Svetlana suddenly speaks up. “Not metal. For people who work with hands.”

“What?” Mickey asks.

She pinches her fingers together. “Soft, so not rip finger off.”

“Have you been looking at rings?” Mickey laughs.

She shrugs, would-be nonchalant. “Was before. For little while.”

She looks away kind of fast, and Mickey’s heart sinks. She was looking at rings with that asshole David she dated. Then she’d come clean to the dude about her dad fucking _selling her_ and he’d kicked her to the curb like garbage. Mickey still wants to kick that guy’s ass.

Ian’s jaw is clenching, so he picked up on that, too. He meets Mickey’s eyes grimly. Mickey shakes his head a little. Svetlana obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, and mentioning David in front of the kid could open a whole new can of worms they don’t want to deal with right now. Ian sighs and Mickey nods his agreement.

“Well, we’ll think about it,” Ian says. “But Mick’s never really liked rings.”

“Get in the way of brass knuckles,” Mickey says unapologetically.

“You going around wearing brass knuckles a lot these days?” Ian asks, raising an eyebrow and laughing at Mickey.

“Never know when you’re gonna need ‘em,” Mickey points out blithely. “Might need to defend your ass.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Ian to remind them of their conversation last night. Ian snorts, but he tangles up their feet under the table.

“Do I need brass knuckles?” Yevgeny asks apprehensively.

“Nope,” Mickey says easily. “You ever get in a fight that needs brass knuckles, you call me and I’ll handle it, deal?”

“Deal,” Yevgeny says, sounding relieved. “I don’t like fighting.”

“Good,” Mickey says. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Normally, Mickey leaves the kid at the front gate to the school, but today, he walks all the way inside to the classroom. He wants to talk to the teacher. Ian had been a little dubious that Mickey could pull this off, which would sting if Mickey didn’t know he comes off way too harsh to everyone. But Mickey doesn’t really care if he comes off harsh. He just needs to know this lady isn’t going to yell at the kid for not having his glasses.

“Mr. Milkovich,” she says, sounding a little surprised and, if he’s not mistaken, apprehensive. Mickey’s used to inciting that reaction in people.

“Can’t get him a new pair of glasses until tomorrow afternoon,” Mickey says, jutting his chin down at the kid. “Gonna be rough for a couple days.”

“Oh,” she says, taken aback. “Where are his glasses?”

“Why don’t you ask that fu—Brad.” Mickey doesn’t need to call a seven-year-old a fuckhead. Not here, anyway.

She sighs. “Oh, right. I heard about that. I didn’t know Yevgeny’s glasses were a casualty.” She looks down at the kid. “How’re you feeling today?”

“I’m okay,” the kid says, leaning into Mickey’s side a little. He’s hanging onto the bottom of Mickey’s shirt like he always does when he’s nervous.

“I can see if we can get an extra aid from the resource room to read things to him today and tomorrow,” the teacher suggests. Then she wins major points in Mickey’s book by turning to the kid again. “Would that be okay?”

Yevgeny bites his lip anxiously. “Like Klaine has?” He asks. Mickey has no idea who or what Klaine is, but Yevgeny doesn’t sound real excited to be lumped in there.

“Well, yeah,” the teacher admits. “But you wouldn’t have to go into the resource room. It’s just until you get your glasses back.”

“Everyone calls Klaine a dummy,” Yevgeny mutters, and Mickey puts that and _resource room_ together to get a clearer picture now.

“Hey,” Mickey says, jostling him a little. “You picking on a slow kid or something? That shit won’t fly, especially if you don’t want to be a bully.” Even the Milkoviches never went after special ed kids. That’s just fucked up.

“I don’t!” Yevgeny insists. “Other kids do.”

“Do I give a shit what other kids do?” Mickey asks, unimpressed.

Yevgeny huffs, exasperated. “I don’t want Brad to be mean to me _again_.”

“Brad’s suspended,” the teacher explains. “Today and tomorrow. You’ll have your glasses back before you see him again.”

“No shit?” Mickey asks. “Damn, schools really do crack down on that anti-gay shit these days, huh?”

“Uh, yes,” the teacher says, raising her eyebrows. “We’re a safe space for students of all orientations and gender identities.”

That’s a bit much for Mickey to handle at 7:45 in the morning, so he just shrugs. If he sits here and considers that there are first graders who already know and talking about how they’re gay or not really girls or whatever the hell else she means, he’s not going to make it to work on time.

“Alright,” Mickey says. He runs his hand through the kid’s hair. “You good?”

“I’m good,” Yevgeny says. Mickey turns to leave and Yevgeny’s hand shoots out and grabs onto his shirt again. “Dad, wait.”

Mickey fights down impatience. The kid still looks anxious. He had a lot of shit thrown at him yesterday; Mickey can be a little late instead of just throwing him back into the alligator pit alone. He crouches down to the kid’s level.

“What’s up, little man?”

Yevgeny’s little face is all pinched up. “What if someone else wants to fight me?” He murmurs, looking down at the ground..

Mickey sighs. He hopes this doesn’t become a thing, one of those complexes kids get. He makes a mental note to ask Kim if she does kids, too. He’s been meaning to get Yevgeny into a kid’s shrink for a while now.

“Anyone gives you any shit, you go to the office and tell ‘em to call me. I’ll come get you, okay?”

“You will?” Yevgeny asks, eyes big. “What about work?”

Mickey shrugs. “Russell’s pretty cool,” he reminds the kid. “I’ll pick you up and you can come hang at the garage while I work. How’s that sound?”

Yevgeny leans closer. “Am I pussy?” He whispers in Mickey’s ear. Mickey clenches his fists.

“Someone say that to you?”

“No,” Yevgeny says. “But I heard Liam say it about another kid ‘cause he ran away from a fight.”

“I already talked to Liam about fighting too much,” Mickey tells him. Liam’s been doing really well in middle school. He had a few scrapes here and there, but he’s mellowed out as the year’s gone on. “Remember what we talked about last night? If you’re fighting ‘cause you’re sticking up for someone, or yourself or whatever, fine. That’s good. But fighting just to fight or fighting to prove you’re tough is bullshit.”

“So am I pussy?” Yevgeny asks, sounding confused.

“Nah. Remember, being nice is tough.”

“Oh, yeah,” Yevgeny says. “Okay, Dad.”

Mickey huffs. “Alright. You gonna be okay here?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Mickey says. He’s suddenly incredibly reluctant to leave the kid here. He didn’t realize the kid was still worried about all that shit they talked about last night and this morning. “You call me if you’re not.”

“Okay, Dad,” he’s starting to sound impatient now. He wants to go bump into a million chairs until he finds the right desk so he can gossip with all his little friends or whatever.

“Okay, go on,” Mickey says, standing up and ruffling the kid’s hair again. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Yevgeny says easily, turning around and scurrying off.

Mickey shakes his head and watches the kid put his backpack away at his little cubby and then make it to his desk. He starts up a conversation with the girl next to him and seems to be doing perfectly fine. He dumped all his worries on Mickey and now he’s okay and Mickey’s all anxious.

“He’s a good kid,” the teacher says at Mickey’s elbow, making Mickey jump about a foot in the air. She’s lucky he’s been in therapy for like a year, or she would’ve just gotten an elbow to the throat.

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees simply.

“You’re doing a good job,” she adds, and that makes Mickey twitchy. She doesn’t know shit about what he’s doing. He can’t say that to her if he wants to brag to Ian about what a good job he did, so he just shrugs.

“Alright,” he says, and then he leaves.

“Mickey,” Russell says, shaking his head when Mickey shows up twenty minutes late. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, man,” Mickey says. “Kid got in a fight at school yesterday and it was this whole big thing. Went in and talked to his teacher this morning ‘cause he doesn’t have his glasses and I didn’t want her to give him shit for not being able to do all the reading and shit.”

“Yevgeny got in a fight?” Russell asks incredulously. He’s always been okay with Mickey bringing the kid with him when he needs to, since Yevgeny’s a pretty chill little kid and will sit in the office eating snacks and coloring, Mickey hasn’t needed to bring him around much, since they’ve got three of them and all of Ian’s siblings to sub in on babysitting, but the kid wanted to come a few times and Mickey wasn’t going to say no.

“It’s a long story,” Mickey says wearily. “This other little asshole’s been picking on him since last year and the kid just snapped yesterday.”

“Is he okay?” Russell asks.

Mickey shrugs. “You know he’s a little crybaby. He’s all worried about being a bully.”

Russell kind of laughs, but he’s making one of those _aw_ faces people make when kids are being cute. “He’s a sweet kid.”

“Yeah, he is,” Mickey agrees. “Don’t know where the fuck he got it. From Ian, probably.”

Russell snorts. “Okay.”

“I told him he can call me and I’ll go get him if he needs me to and we’ll hang out here,” Mickey says. “That cool?”

“Yeah, of course,” Russell says, waving a hand. “Tasha’s got her girl here,” he adds with a dark look.

“Shit, again?” Mickey asks. Tasha’s ex-husband is a fucking scumbag who takes off all the time when he’s supposed to be with their kid. Tasha’s got a court date to revoke his custody, but the courts are all jammed up and it’ll be months. Her kid ends up hanging in the office a lot when Tasha can’t find a last-minute babysitter.

“Said she got to his house and he was still drunk from the night before,” Russell says angrily.

“Goddamn,” Mickey says. “Maybe we oughta go have a little chat with him.”

Russell huffs. “Yeah, I thought about it, but I don’t want to do anything to screw up Tasha’s custody hearing. Or your parole,” he adds pointedly. Mickey rolls his eyes a little. Hawkins and Russell were apparently in the same unit or whatever the fuck it’s called in Vietnam, which had been a real big fucking shock to Mickey when he found out Hawkins went to war. But that means Russell knows all about Mickey being on parole and rides him about it. Mickey’s got three more months before he’s a free man for real. He keeps telling himself he’s not anxious about what the hell that means for the rest of his life.

“Where is Tasha?” Mickey asks, raising his voice so she can hear him if she’s somewhere under a car.

“What do you want, Milkovich?” Tasha asks from under a Subaru. She slides out and grins at him. “Snooze you lose, you know.”

“I could call Ian’s sister,” Mickey offers. “I don’t know what she’s up to today, but if she’s free it might be more fun for the kid than hanging out here all day.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Tasha says, but Mickey can tell she’s just trying to be polite or whatever. Mickey rolls his eyes at her and pulls out his phone. Why the fuck anyone would try to worry about manners in a situation like this is beyond him.

“Hey, Mickey, what’s up?” Fiona asks.

“You working today?”

“Yeah, but Debs’s semester is over and she hasn’t started her job yet. She’s here and she’ll be home all day. Need her to watch Yev? He didn’t get suspended or anything, did he?”

“Nah, he’s okay. Fucking asshole broke his glasses, though.”

“No,” Fiona groans. “Yev’s gotta be livid.”

“Eh, he’s got other shit to worry about. I’ll tell you about it later; I’m at work. Is Debbie up right now?”

“Yeah, she’s right here,” Fiona says. There’s some rustling as the phone changes hands.

“Hi Mickey,” Debbie says.

“Hey, how’d you feel about hanging out with uh…” Mickey looks at Tasha. “How old’s your kid?”

“Two and a half,” Tasha says. “And she’s totally potty-trained and everything.”

“Three-year-old,” Mickey tells Debbie. “Girl. Chick I work with’s got a deadbeat ex and it sucks for a kid to be stuck here all day.”

“Sure!” Debbie chirps. “I love babysitting.”

“You sure?” Mickey checks. “I know you’re probably only taking a few days off before working. If you want to just relax, tell me to fuck off. Don’t do it just ‘cause you think you have to.”

“No, Mickey, I was done with finals at the end of last week so I’ve been doing nothing all week,” Debbie assures him. “I’m bored.”

“Alright,” Mickey says. “I’ll bring her over in a little bit.”

“No, I’ll come get her!” Debbie says. “You guys should just keep working. And then we’ll go to the park. Probably a little easier to transition from the office with her mom to a park than straight to a stranger’s house.”

“Alright,” Mickey says. He doesn’t have any input there. Debbie knows a shit ton more about kids than he does. She shows up in under half an hour. Tasha’s finished with the Subaru and Mickey’s working on a Jeep when she pulls in.

“Hey,” Debbie says. “I have an old car seat from the twins but if her mom has one she wants me to use it might be better.” Tasha goes over and introduces herself.

“Thank you so much,” she gushes. “Mickey’s told me a lot about you.”

“Fuck I have,” Mickey protests.

Debbie laughs. “Has he really?”

“Sure,” Tasha says. “I mean, in little bits and pieces, of course. You’re almost done with college, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be a senior next year,” Debbie says. “And I’m thinking of going to law school.”

“Oh, wow,” Tasha says. “He also told me you used to run a daycare and you watch Yev all the time.”

“I love kids,” Debbie tells her. “I’m a child development major and I’m totally First Aid certified.”

“No shit,” Tasha says. “You’re more qualified to take care of my kid than I am.”

Mickey huffs. “That’s what I say all the time and Ian gets all annoyed.”

“No, Ian gets annoyed because you say Yev would be better off if you left him on my doorstep and ran away,” Debbie counters. “I can’t believe Mickey’s talked about me! I feel so special.”

“Ah, shut the fuck up,” Mickey grouses. “I didn’t say shit. Tasha looked at your fucking Facebook.”

Debbie cracks up laughing. “Oh my God, Mickey, no one uses Facebook anymore.”

“They don’t?”

“Only old people,” Debbie says.

“Yeah, Mickey, only old people like _you_ ,” Tasha says. She and Debbie both laugh at him and Mickey rolls his eyes. They’re about the same age; Tasha’s a little older, maybe, but he knows she had her kid pretty young. Mickey’s like five years older than they are. He doesn’t think that makes him _old_.

“See if I ever help you again,” Mickey says.

Tasha and Debbie share an eyeroll, both laughing at him, and Mickey harrumphs and goes back under the Jeep. He can feel himself blushing. The truth is, he _does_ talk about Debbie sometimes. Most of the time, Mickey talks about Yevgeny and Svetlana and, above all, Ian, but if he’s talking about them it’s inevitable that Ian’s siblings come into the conversation. He didn’t realize he’d said all that about Debbie, though. He’s kind of embarrassed. He didn’t know he was such a fucking Chatty Cathy.

Tasha goes to the office to get her kid—Angela or something like that—and Mickey senses someone walking over to him. He’s pretty sure it’s Debbie. He slides out from under the car. She’s leaning against it.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about talking about me,” she says.

“I’m going back under there,” Mickey warns.

“Wait!” Debbie says, stepping on his creeper. If he really wanted to, he could still slide back under, but he obliges her impatiently. “Thanks for thinking of me, Mickey.”

“Thanks for roping you into babysitting all day for free?” Mickey asks skeptically.

“Yeah,” Debbie says with a shrug. “I like that I’m…dependable.”

Mickey makes a face at her. “You’ve been dependable since you were like five,” he points out. “You don’t know that yet?”

She laughs a little. “I mean I like that I’m dependable to _you_.”

“God, we gotta do this mushy shit?” Mickey complains. He’s at _work_. He doesn’t want to face down all his feelings right now.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” Debbie sighs. “Don’t share a nice moment with me. I’m just saying, don’t be embarrassed. We’re family.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey says. He nudges her leg. “Uh…we’re gonna be more family pretty soon. Like…all legal and shit.”

It takes Debbie a second to process what he’s saying, and then she squeals and leans down to grab onto him. “Oh my God!” She cries. “Can I plan your wedding?”

“ _No_ ,” Mickey snaps. “We’re not doing a big thing, okay? We already decided. We’re going to the judge and that’s it.”

Debbie pouts. “Can I plan your party?”

“That…” Mickey sighs. “Yeah, alright.”

“Yes!” She squeals again.

“Don’t tell Mandy yet,” Mickey says, suddenly remembering he hasn’t told her. “I gotta tell her.”

“Okay,” Debbie says, miming zipping her lips.

Tasha comes out with the kid and Debbie spends a few minutes introducing herself while the kid’s still feeling safe with her mom. After they leave, Tasha says, “You got a kickass family, Milkovich.”

Mickey looks over at where Debbie’s helping the little girl into the car, smiling and animated, and he smiles a little. “Yeah, I do.”

 

“Okay, ready?” Ian asks.

“Why do I gotta be part of this?” Mickey complains. Ian ignores him and hits the call button. It rings like fifty times. “Maybe she won’t answer,” Mickey says.

“Hey, babe,” Mandy answers. Mickey rolls his eyes. Of _course_ Mandy calls him babe. Mandy and Ian deserve each other way more than Mickey deserves Ian, but whatever. Ian ain’t into chicks and Mickey lucked out.

“Hey, Mickey’s here too,” Ian says.

“Hey, shithead,” Mandy responds.

“Very big difference in greetings,” Ian teases.

“I’ll take mine,” Mickey says. Ian laughs and nudges him.

“Mands, we got something to tell you,” Ian says.

“You’re finally leaving Mickey so we can get married?” Mandy asks.

“Fuck off,” Mickey interjects, making both Ian and Mandy laugh at him.

“Well, the married part’s right,” Ian says.

“What, like now?” Mandy asks.

“Soon,” Ian says, at the same time Mickey says,

“Pretty much.”

“Whoa,” Mandy says. “Mickey’s not freaking out?”

“Not more than I do about everything,” Mickey says. “You coming?”

“You inviting me?”

“Mandy, you know we couldn’t get married without you!” Ian laughs. “When are you free?”

“What, you’re gonna plan the whole thing around me?” She sounds edgy. There’s a sharp thread of hostility under her words. Ian’s brow furrows, but for once, Mickey’s got this.

“Hey,” he says. “We’re not doing it without you. If that means we gotta wait a year, fine. We’ve waited this long, right? All this time we’ve already been married, pretty much, so we can wait a little longer if we gotta. You’re coming.”

Mandy doesn’t say anything for a second, and Mickey’s afraid he didn’t get his point across. He knows what’s freaking her out. She thinks them getting married will be a big change. She’s probably feeling kind of shitty about getting left behind. Mickey thinks that’s pretty stupid of her, because even if he wanted to leave her behind, there’s no way Ian would. He’s trying to be nice about it, though. He’s really working on caring about Mandy’s feelings more. It kind of sucks. Now he’s got to worry about being a better dad and a better boyfriend or husband or whatever and a better ex-husband _and_ a better brother. It’s a lot of work.

“Yeah, okay,” Mandy finally says, voice softer now. “Gonna do a weekend or what?”

“It can be Saturday, but the hours are shorter for the judge than a weekday.”

“You’re just doing a judge thing?” Mandy asks. “Why? Do a real wedding.”

“That is a real wedding,” Mickey snaps. He’s getting tired of being told their relationship is lacking in some way.

“Ugh, but it’s lame,” Mandy says.

“It’s what we want,” Ian says.

“Okay _fine_ ,” Mandy huffs. “How about two weeks? I can get there Thursday night and you can do it Friday.”

“Two weeks,” Mickey breathes. “Wow.”

Ian glances over at him, eyebrows raised. “Cold feet?”

“No,” Mickey says defensively. “That’s just soon.”

“You can back out if you want,” Ian reminds him.

“Fuck you,” Mickey says. “You back out if you want.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Ian says placidly. Mickey rolls his eyes and snorts. Ian gives him a smile that practically stops Mickey’s heart. Holy shit. They’re going to get married.

“Fuck,” Mickey says.

“What, you really _are_ backing out?” Mandy crackles over the speakerphone.

“No,” Mickey says. “Fuck. We’re getting married. Holy fuck.”

Ian laughs, a bright, happy sound that actually brings tears to Mickey’s eyes. He covers his face with his hands. He’s so overwhelmed right now. Nothing he’s feeling is bad, but there’s just a whole lot of it. He’s sitting here bawling into his hands because he’s _happy_. When the hell has that ever happened?

“Aw, Mick,” Ian says, rubbing his back. He’s still laughing, kind of, but not in a bad way.

“God,” Mickey chokes out. “Ian.”

“I know,” Ian murmurs. He kisses Mickey’s temple.

“Do I need to stay on the phone for this?” Mandy snarks out.

“Ugh, shut the fuck up,” Mickey says, hearing how choked up he still sounds.

“Are you _crying_?” Mandy shrieks.

“All I fucking do these days is cry,” Mickey grouses. He sniffles.

“Yeah, but what’s there to cry about?” Mandy asks. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“I fucking am,” Mickey growls. “That’s why I’m fucking crying.”

“Oh my God, you have so many feelings now.” Mandy’s teasing, but there’s some emotion in her voice, too. “Is two weeks good or do you need more time?”

Ian looks at Mickey. Mickey swipes at the tears on his face. “Nah, that’s good,” he says. Ian’s return smile is blinding. After they hang up with Mandy, Ian wraps Mickey up in his arms. Mickey kisses Ian’s chest and takes a deep breath.

“Do you want to do a real wedding?” He asks. He doesn’t, not really. He can marry Ian, but having a room full of people looking at him, when he’s inevitably going to cry, is not something he’s really excited about. It was bad when he did with Svetlana and had to focus hard on not puking the whole night. Even though he feels lightyears away from what he did then, he just doesn’t know if he can take that. He will, though. If that’s what Ian wants, Mickey will nut up and do it.

“We are doing a real wedding,” Ian reminds him.

“You know what I mean,” Mickey says.

“Mickey, whatever we do is real,” Ian tells him. He presses his face into Mickey’s hair. “We’re real. We don’t have to do what everyone else wants. We can do what _we_ want.”

Mickey’s crying again, but just a little. Ian’s right. Of course he is. Mickey really doesn’t give a fuck what everyone else thinks. He cares what Ian thinks and what Ian wants, and if Ian wants to do it the same way Mickey does, that’s all Mickey needs.

“You’re not just doing it this way ‘cause I’m too fucked up to do a re—a big wedding?” Mickey checks.

Ian shrugs. “Mickey, all I really care about is you’re there and I’m there and someone at the end says we’re married. You think I want to give some speech to everyone about how much I love you?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Mickey says. It sounds like something Ian probably wrote about in his diary back when he was that freckly dork who visited Mickey in juvie.

Ian laughs. “I mean, I _would_ ,” Ian admits. “But I don’t care if _they_ hear it. I’d rather just tell you.”

“Oh,” Mickey says, throat getting tight again. “Well, okay.”

Ian pushes back enough to kiss Mickey. “Are you asking because _you_ actually want to do a big wedding?”

“No,” Mickey assures him flatly. “I really, really don’t.”

“I didn’t think you did.” Ian snorts. “God, I’m imagining you writing vows.”

“Ian, you gave me that good dick when you were fifteen and I haven’t stopped gagging for it since,” Mickey pretends to be reading a notecard.

Ian cracks up. “Mickey, I’ll never forget the day you got shot because you were taunting the statutory rapist who was pissed he caught us fucking in the freezer.”

“I took an ass full of buckshot for you and I’d do it again.”

“I knew I was in love with you the first time you said _nice swallowing_ after I blew you in an alley.”

They’re both laughing. Mickey puts his hands on Ian’s face. “I’m excited to marry you,” he says. It makes him blush to say it, but he says it. He doesn’t mumble it or look away, either. He looks right in Ian’s eyes and he says it clearly. He wants Ian to understand that.

Ian’s smile is so soft Mickey wants to cry again. “I’m excited to marry you, too,” Ian says. He leans forward and kisses Mickey again. It’s everything he wants.

 

When Mickey wakes up, it’s still dark out. He jumps when he realizes someone is in the room besides Ian snoring beside him. He breathes out harshly when he realizes it’s the kid.

“The fuck are you doing?” Mickey whispers.

“Dad,” Yevgeny whispers back way too loudly.

“Hang on,” Mickey says, waving a hand at the kid. He drags himself out of the bed and herds the kid out of the room. “What are you doing out of bed, kid?”

“You’re getting married today,” Yevgeny says solemnly.

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “Okay?”

“When my friend Axel’s mom got married to his stepdad, they went to a church,” Yevgeny reports. “But you don’t go to church.”

Mickey doesn’t get why they need to rehash a conversation they already had, especially at three am, but he forces himself to take a deep breath and not snap at the kid. Ian never snaps at him when he needs the same conversation forty million times, and he doesn’t get mad at Ian for needing to hear that he’s more than his body at three am, so he can deal with the kid needing this, too.

“Yeah,” he agrees, because not snapping doesn’t mean he has to be verbose.

“It’s not ‘cause you’re gay?”

“Not really,” Mickey says. “Remember what I said about my shitty dad and my feelings and all that?”

“Yeah.” Yevgeny thinks for a minute. “When Jeremy’s cousin got married, they did it in a park.”

“Kid, it’s the middle of the fucking night,” Mickey says, not quite snapping but getting a lot closer than he promised himself he would. “Can we cut to the chase here?” There’s no telling how many of his little friends know someone who got married different than how they’re doing it and Mickey is too tired to sit through all of them.

“You said you and Ian love each other for real but no one on TV doesn’t have a big wedding and _you’re_ not having a big wedding and you’re not even gonna wear _rings_ like all the married people do.”

Mickey groans. “Come on, man, what’d I say about worrying about this shit?”

“I _know_ ,” Yevgeny says. “But it’s still in my _head_ , Dad.” He sounds so distressed it melts some of Mickey’s annoyance away. He can’t exactly get mad at the kid for worrying about shit he knows, logically, isn’t worth worrying about. That would be pretty damn hypocritical. And maybe that anxiety shit’s genetic and it’s Mickey’s fault he’s got it, anyway.

“Come here,” Mickey says, leading him into the living room to plop down on the couch. “Listen. Are you more worried the other kids aren’t going to think we’re a real family, or are _you_ worried about it?”

Yevgeny’s little chest expands with a big sigh. “When the other kids say it I get worried.”

“Okay.” Mickey considers this. “Well, look. A lot of people get married this way. It’s just not on TV because some people don’t think it’s romantic to do it this way.”

“What’s romantic?”

“Like…mushy, you know? Lovey dovey.” Mickey shrugs. “I’m not a real romantic guy. It’s hard for me to do shit like that because of all the shit I got going on in my head about feelings.”

Yevgeny furrows his brow. “What?”

“You gotta be like…open with your feelings to be romantic. And that’s hard for me.”

“Oh.” Yevgeny thinks that over for a second. “So this is how to get married if you don’t want to talk about feelings?”

Mickey shrugs. “I mean, you can do it at your house or at a park and not have to talk about your feelings. The person in charge can do all the talking. But me and Ian…” Mickey weighs his words. “The thing is, kid, we’ve been doing all the shit married people do for a long time. And we’ve kinda thought about ourselves as married. Like before I went to prison we were together for a while. So to us, this is just making it official. We don’t need to do some big thing with a bunch of people looking at us. We just want to be married; we don’t care about the wedding part.”

“Did you used to be married to Mama?”

Mickey blows out a breath. “Yeah.”

“But you stopped being married to Mama so you could marry Ian instead?”

“It’s—” Mickey stops himself from saying _complicated_. He learned the hard way the kid doesn’t take that as an answer. “I’m gay, kid. That means I can’t love—I mean, okay, I love your mom. But it’s not the same. I love your mom kinda the same way I love Mandy. Like…it’s different than how I love Ian. And since I’m gay I can’t ever love your mom like I love Ian, because I only love dudes like that. And your mom’s not a dude. And your mom should be with someone who can love her like I love Ian.”

“What’s the difference?” Yevgeny asks.

“I don’t really know,” Mickey admits, because he has no idea how to explain it to a kid. “Sex, definitely.”

“That’s how to make babies,” Yevgeny points out. He juts his thumb at himself. “You already did.”

“Yeah, it’s _possible_ , man, like everything _works_ , but, uh, sex is supposed to be with someone—I mean, you can have sex with whoever you want, I guess, and you don’t gotta love everyone you have sex with, but having sex with your mom wasn’t—well, any chick, not just your mom, but with your mom there was other…” Mickey frowns. “This might be something we gotta wait to talk about until you’re older.”

“How come?”

“’Cause you don’t really get what sex is and I don’t think I’m supposed to explain it.”

“You can tell me,” Yevgeny says. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Mickey huffs. “Nah, we’re definitely not doing that. And hey, if some grownup wants to tell you sex stuff and says not to tell your parents, you kick ‘em in the balls and run like hell, okay? Then come and tell me.”

“What if it’s a girl grownup?” Yevgeny asks.

“Kick her in the kneecaps,” Mickey decides.

“Dad?” Yevgeny asks.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That makes Mickey laugh. “Yeah, I don’t either, actually.” He rubs the back of his neck. “The thing you gotta remember here is I love Ian, okay? I love him for real and our wedding’s gonna be real and our family is real. And it doesn’t matter what any of your friends say or anyone from a church says. We know the truth, right?”

“I just don’t get why they say it’s not real.” Yevgeny looks dejected. Mickey wishes he had an answer, he really does, but all he can do is pull the kid over into his lap.

“Listen, most of the world is full of assholes,” Mickey tells him. “So it’s better if you learn now not to give a shit what any of them think.”

“Even my friends?”

Mickey shrugs. “Hey, if they’re talking shit about our family, maybe they’re not really your friends.”

Yevgeny nods. “Okay, Dad.”

“Any of that make sense?” Mickey checks.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either,” Mickey says. “But it’s the asscrack of dawn, kid, so I get a little pass on making sense.”

“Are you excited to marry Ian?”

Finally, a question Mickey knows the answer to. “Yeah, I really fucking am.”

Yevgeny smiles. “You smiled big, Dad.”

Mickey laughs. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m excited.”

“Were you excited to marry Mama?”

Mickey winces. “No, I wasn’t,” he says honestly. “But that wasn’t your mom’s fault. I shouldn’t have married her at all.”

“How come you did?” Yevgeny asks.

Mickey sighs. “Well, my dad told me I had to. And back then, I didn’t know I could say no to my dad.” He would’ve had to leave Chicago, that’s for damn sure, but he’s pretty sure he could’ve gotten Ian to go with him. It would never have occurred to him to do that, though, not back then.

“Dads can make you marry someone you don’t want to?” Yevgeny asks worriedly.

“They shouldn’t,” Mickey says. “I won’t ever make you marry anyone, deal?”

“Deal.” Yevgeny takes Mickey’s hand to shake. “So if you’re excited, does that mean you’re not gonna stop being married to Ian like you stopped being married to Mama?”

“Fuck, kid, you sure got a lot of questions.”

Yevgeny shrugs. “You said I get to ask anything!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. You can always ask questions. And no, I’m not gonna stop being married to Ian. I’m gonna stay married to Ian until the day I die.”

“When’s that gonna be?” Yevgeny asks.

Mickey laughs at him. “I don’t know. When I’m really old, I hope.”

“Not for a long time, right?” Yevgeny asks.

“Yeah, not for a long time. You’ll be grown up and have your own kids.”

“Really?”

“Sure, if you want kids. You don’t gotta worry about that now, though. You’re too young.”

“Dad?” Yevgeny asks.

“What?” Mickey asks, hoping he doesn’t sound _too_ annoyed. He didn’t realize he was going to be answering nine thousand questions. He would’ve pissed first.

“Are you and Ian gonna have more kids?”

“Whoa, fuck,” Mickey says, caught off-guard.

“People get married and have babies.”

“Not all people,” Mickey says. “Me and Ian having more kids would be harder than if your mom married a dude and wanted more kids. And no, we’re not having more.”

“How come?”

“We already got you,” Mickey points out. “Why’d we need more?”

“I don’t know. All my friends have brothers and sisters.”

“You want brothers and sisters?” Mickey asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to share my room.”

“Well, kid, look. If you’re ever getting brothers or sisters, it’ll have to be from your mom. I can’t—I don’t think I can ever have more kids.”

“Why not?”

Mickey rubs his face. There’s not a good way to explain to his seven-year-old that he never wanted kids in the first place and didn’t get a fucking choice in the one he has. “I’m not really good at it. You know, I got you, and you’re good, but I don’t know. Another kid might not be as good as you.”

“Probably not,” Yevgeny agrees. It makes Mickey laugh a little, even though his stomach kind of hurts. He hopes someday Yevgeny understands that Mickey didn’t get to choose having him, but he’s put everything he can into being a good dad for him. He’s trying really fucking hard, but it’s not like a little kid can see it or understand it.

“Alright, how ‘bout we go back to bed?” Mickey suggests. “I don’t want to fall asleep when I’m getting married.”

Yevgeny laughs. “You’d probably get in trouble.”

“Yeah, I think I’d get in trouble with Ian, and that’s the worst kind,” Mickey says.

Yevgeny shrugs. “He’s always nice to me.”

Mickey laughs at that, not that Yevgeny really gets it, and carries the kid to his room. “You’re almost getting too big for me to carry,” Mickey says. “Pretty soon you’re gonna be carrying me to my bed.”

Yevgeny rolls his eyes. “You’re way too heavy.”

“Guess you better start lifting weights, then, huh?” Mickey tucks Yevgeny into bed. “Goodnight. Quit worrying about all this shit and go to sleep, okay?”

“Well, I’ll try,” Yevgeny says.

“Okay.” Mickey kisses his forehead. “Goodnight, little man.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

When Mickey gets back to bed, Ian mumbles a little noise and presses close to him. Mickey kisses his forehead, too, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

 

“You nervous?” Fiona asks. They’re all leaning against a wall in the courthouse hallway. There’s a waiting room, but it’s full, and they’re apparently the back of the line. It’s not like they got here at the end of the day. People must be fucking eager to get hitched.

“No,” he says truthfully. “What’s there to be nervous about?”

“You’re getting married!” Fiona says.

“Oh, right,” Mickey says. “What a big commitment, living with someone and raising a kid together and dealing with all our shit together.” He raises his eyebrows, unimpressed.

Fiona laughs. “Okay, fine. You’re very casual for a guy who needed almost a year to warm up to the idea.”

Now Mickey laughs. “Fuck you, I can’t believe you’re mocking my trauma.”

“ _Mocking my trauma_ ,” Fiona mimics. “Your shrink give you that sentence to use in situations like this?”

He snorts and elbows her and she pinches the inside of his elbow. The thing is, Mickey really _isn’t_ nervous. He was a little worried he’d freak out about being in the courthouse—it’s not the same building he did his hearings in, so at least he doesn’t have bad memories, but still, the basic structure is the same all around and there are a few bailiffs scattered around—but he’s actually handling it pretty well. By his standards, anyway.

Ian squeezes his shoulder as they inch closer to the front of the line. No one else has a group as big as theirs, but the clerk lady told them they could bring fifteen people. They stuck just to family, plus Kev and V and the twins, but Ian’s family is so big they ended up with twelve of them standing here waiting. They’ve gotten a few looks. It pretty much completely negates them not wanting to do a bigger thing at a park or the house or something, but Mickey doesn’t mind all these people seeing him getting emotional. They all have already, anyway, and they’re his family.

“Guess we should’ve waited to have sex until after, huh?” Ian asks, looking at all the people ahead of them.

Mickey shrugs. “We’ve waited this long. Rather get sex and wait a little.”

“Besides, we can still have sex after, too,” Ian reasons.

“Oh, we can?” Mickey teases. “You know we won’t get out of that party until late. You gonna fall asleep on me again, pillow princess?”

Ian throws his head back and laughs. “Fine, you call me a pillow princess and I’m just gonna lie back and make you do all the work for a change.”

“For a change!” Mickey huffs. “Fuck off, I’m always the one doing all the work. Your lazy ass just comes along for the ride.”

“Yeah, emphasis on comes,” Ian says, grinning smugly.

“You two are disgusting,” V complains. “I hope that lie about marriage killing your sex life comes true for you.”

“It won’t,” Ian says confidently.

“If we don’t get out of here soon, no one’s going to be at home when the cake gets delivered,” Debbie frets.

“Maybe they’ll just leave it on the doorstep,” Mickey says. “Like packages.”

“If there’s cake on the doorstep, Frank will show up and eat it,” Carl points out.

“You seen him around lately?” Lip asks curiously. “He could be dead.”

“If only,” Fiona mutters.

“Don’t worry, they’ll call you if they knock and no one’s there,” Mandy reassures Debbie. “They have your number, right?”

“Yeah,” Debbie says. “Have you gotten a cake delivered before?”

“Yeah, I had to give this lady at work a baby shower one time,” Mandy says. “It fucking sucked. I hate babies.”

Mickey’s not sure if it’s a total lie. The only babies Mickey’s seen Mandy around were Liam and Yevgeny, and Liam was kind of older before she ever was on the scene. She was okay with both of them, not exactly a natural, but that sure as hell isn’t her fault. Mickey just can’t tell if she really does hate babies or if that’s part of her defense mechanism. They’re both working on not immediately dismissing shit they’re vulnerable about, but it’s a lot harder with a big group like this.

Liam, Yevgeny, Amy, and Gemma are playing tag at the end of the hallway. Mickey’s pretty sure he should tell them to be quiet, but they’re not screaming as loud as they normally do when they play tag and so far no one’s crying, so he doesn’t really care. Svetlana, Debbie, and Mandy keep putting their heads together conspiratorially, and Mickey’s sure that can’t be anything good. They’re up to something. They must think he’s really fucking stupid if they think he doesn’t notice every time they start whispering Fiona grabs his attention. She’s in on it, too.

It doesn’t actually take all that long for the line to thin out. No one seems to be taking up much time once they get into the little room. Finally, the lady with the clipboard calls out, “Milkovich and Gallagher?”

Debbie squeals and claps her hands together. Svetlana calls out to Yevgeny and he and the other kids come running. The clipboard lady does a bit of a double-take when she sees how many of them are coming.

“Whoa, you’re a big group,” she says, quickly counting them. “That’s fine. It’s going to be a little squishy in there, though.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we can handle it,” Fiona assures her.

The judge is an old guy. Mickey wonders if he only does weddings or if maybe he’s sent Mickey to juvie before. He can’t remember all the judges in kiddie court, but he does remember the nasally old fuck who sent him to prison.

“Okay, Ian Gallagher and Mi-Mikhailo? Milkovich?” He totally butchers Mickey’s name and Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Mickey,” he supplies gruffly.

“But your legal name is…?” The judge prompts.

“It’s Mikhailo,” Ian tells him. He grabs onto Mickey’s hand. “That’s us.”

“Okay,” the guy says, not batting an eye that they’re two dudes. Something in Mickey relaxes and he didn’t even know he was tensed. He’s not scared or ashamed of being gay anymore, not really, but sometimes he still has to have his guard up. “Nice to see you have so much family support,” the judge adds. He’s not even being sarcastic or anything. He’s smiling at them.

He gestures at them to step up closer to him and Mickey swallows. He isn’t nervous, and he isn’t worried, but he is…something. He isn’t sure. He has butterflies. How fucking stupid is that? This is Ian. It’s not like it’s anything scary.

“Alright. Will you being doing any vows of your own?” The guy asks. Mickey shakes his head.

“Just whatever standard stuff you do,” Ian says.

“That’s fine,” the judge says. “You ready to get started?”

Mickey swallows hard again. He looks at Ian and raises his eyebrows. Ian grins at him. “Yeah, we’re ready,” Ian answers, not taking his eyes off Mickey.

Mickey doesn’t actually pay a whole lot of attention to what the judge is saying. It’s not very flowery or anything, and it’s mostly just them vowing to stay together. Mickey can handle that. When he asks Mickey if Mickey takes Ian, Mickey nods, and the judge says, “Sorry, son, I need a verbal confirmation.”

“I do,” Mickey blurts. He’s kind of surprised he’s not crying. With all the crying he does these days, he would’ve thought this, of all things, would get him.

When it’s Ian’s turn to say yes, he squeezes Mickey’s hands and says, “Of course I do” with a big fucking grin on his face. And _then_ Mickey tears up. That makes sense. Ian’s grin softens a little when he notices the tears in Mickey’s eyes, gets a little fonder and a whole lot more teasing, but Mickey doesn’t even care.

“Alrighty then,” the judge says. “You can go ahead and kiss your husband.”

“Holy shit,” Mickey says. Ian’s cracking up laughing when Mickey grabs him and kisses him. Their whole fucking family is _cheering_ and it’s so _dumb_ and cheesy and Mickey’s so happy he feels like he’s going to explode. “Fuck, Ian,” he whispers against Ian’s face. “We’re fucking married.”

Ian’s still laughing, giddy and punch-drunk. “We’re married,” he repeats, pulling Mickey in for another kiss.

The judge kind of indulges them for a second, but then he clears his throat. “Congratulations,” he says. “And I’m sorry to rush you along, but we’ve still got more people to marry.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ian laughs. He hasn’t stopped smiling in like five whole minutes. His face is going to start hurting soon. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” the judge says, and he even smiles and looks pretty genuine.

“We have to get home to get the cake!” Debbie reminds them all as they shuffle out of the room. “Let’s go!”

“Wait, we gotta take a picture,” Fiona insists. “Boys, get over there by the window.”

Mickey doesn’t care what the hell anyone wants to do at this point. As long as he gets to hold Ian’s hand the whole time. Fiona takes like seventy pictures of the two of them, and Mickey even submits to one of them kissing with only slight complaint. Fiona grabs a lady in the hallway to take a big group picture of everyone, and then they take one of Mickey and Ian with the kid and Mickey and Ian with Svetlana and the kid and Mickey and Ian with Mandy and Mickey and Ian with all of Ian’s siblings, and just when Fiona’s saying, “Okay, now—”

“No!” Mickey says. “Come the fuck on, let’s go. We’re all going to the same fucking place.”

“Oh, you’re gonna let me take more pictures at the party?” Fiona asks dubiously.

“You got like a million,” Mickey points out. “Can’t you just photoshop one of those with whoever else you want in the background?”

She snorts, but she relents. “Fine. It’s your wedding day. You can have what you want.”

It sends a little thrill down Mickey’s back. It’s his wedding day. They’re _married_ now. He can’t help the sappy little smile he shoots at Ian. “I got what I want,” he mumbles.

Fiona laughs out loud. “Aw, Mickey, that was _adorable_.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey grumbles, but then everyone just laughs at him more. He doesn’t even care. He feels like fucking Terry could pop up and it wouldn’t ruin today.

Okay, that might be too far.

Mickey keeps staring at Ian the whole ride home. The kid’s in the backseat with Svetlana and Mandy, yammering away about how much cake he’s going to eat, and Mickey knows he needs to pay attention to his son but he _can’t_. It’s like his brain is just gone. Ian’s all he can concentrate on.

Ian glances over at him at a red light. “You’re staring, Mick,” he says, but he’s still smiling hard.

“Yeah,” Mickey admits. “Looking at my husband.”

Ian laughs that giddy laugh again, and Mickey wants to keep hearing it forever.

“You guys are being so fucking gross,” Mandy complains, but she’s got that tone in her voice that means she’s happy for them. Mickey twists around to look at her.

“Yeah, we fucking are,” he agrees. “And we’re gonna keep being fucking gross as long as we want. We’re _married_ , bitch.”

Mandy laughs at him, and there’s so much fucking _love_ on her face as she looks at him Mickey almost starts crying. He’s not glad about much of the shit that happened to him in the first twenty-three years or so of his life, but he’s really fucking happy he has his little sister. Especially now, when they’re working on loving each other better.

“Dad,” Yevgeny scolds. “It’s not nice to call Aunt Mandy a _bitch_.”

“You are right, Yev,” Ian says. “But Dad wasn’t really calling Mandy a bitch. He was just using it for emphasis.”

“What’s that?” Yevgeny asks.

“Getting my point across,” Mickey explains. He can see the little wheels in the kid’s head turning, so he adds, “Don’t go around saying it, okay? That’s one of those grownup words.”

Yevgeny sighs. “There’s too many grownup words you won’t let me say.”

“Maybe we not say grownup words so much,” Svetlana says, raising her eyebrows at Mickey.

Mickey makes a face at her. “Fuck, I can only fix so many things at once,” he points out. “Let me tackle not getting fucking homicidal anytime something bad happens and then I’ll deal with cleaning up my fucking mouth, huh?”

Ian snorts. “Think your mouth might be beyond cleaning.”

Mickey could make a few comments about where his mouth’s been and the statement that makes about Ian’s hygiene, but he does have _some_ common sense when it comes to shielding the kid. Ian can definitely read his mind on that, though, because he starts laughing.

Fiona’s backyard is all decked out, even more than it was for Mickey’s birthday. There’s a shitty, home-made banner that says _Congrats Ian and Mickey!!!! :)_ Mickey thinks he’s going to secretly keep it forever.

“I didn’t think you guys would show up right away,” Carl says when he sees them.

“Where did you think we’d go?” Ian asks.

“Thought you’d go have sex,” Carl says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, we already did this morning,” Mickey tells him with a shrug. “Might as well have some cake before I have the other kinda cake.”

“Oh, fuck,” Carl groans. “I brought that on myself.”

“Your girl coming?” Mickey asks.

“If by _coming_ ,” Carl starts with a smirk.

“No, stop,” Ian cuts him off. “We can make jokes like that ‘cause we’re married and we’re both into it. Don’t say shit like that about girls.”

“Debbie’s gonna yell at you for that,” Carl warns. “She gave me like a half-hour lecture about how girls like sex too. Like duh. _I know_. But yeah, she’ll be here later. She had to work this morning at her internship at the hospital.”

“Can’t believe you got such a responsible girl,” Ian says, shaking his head a little. He ruffles Carl’s hair. “Proud of you.”

“Being married made you sappy,” Carl says, like he’s not glowing at the compliment. Sometimes Mickey can’t believe Ian doesn’t realize how much his family loves and fucking _depends_ on him. All his siblings come to him for advise and emotional validation. Mickey knows that was one thing Ian mourned a whole hell of a lot when he was figuring out his diagnosis. Everyone was too afraid of upsetting his tenuous mental health balance to go to him with their problems. Luckily for Ian, that went away once everyone realized he was stable again.

People start showing up, and a lot of them brought presents, which is kind of weird. It’s not like they need fucking kitchen appliances. They’ve been living together for long enough. And most of their appliances are Svetlana’s, anyway. They didn’t do one of those registry things. They don’t know any rich people who would’ve bought them big shit so they didn’t bother. Their guests are mostly work people. Ian has some friends from outside work, but not a lot, and Mickey’s got none that aren’t related to him or Ian. He’s never really had friends.

Hawkins and his wife show up and Mickey accepts their hugs with only mild grumbling. The party starts to get loud, people milling around everywhere, and Mickey finds himself backed up against the side of the house, away from everyone else. He just needs a second.

Mandy comes over and leans against the house with him. They watch while Liam and Ian fight over the last corner piece of a pan of brownies someone brought. Mickey knows Ian’s going to let Liam have it.

“Glad you came,” Mickey says without looking over at Mandy.

Mandy looks at him. “Yeah, me too,” she says. She smiles a little. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Wouldn’t do it without you,” Mickey says.

Mandy snorts. “If it was never doing it or doing it without me, I think you’d do it,” she points out.

Mickey shrugs. “Maybe not.”

Mandy elbows him. “Whatever.” They’re quiet again for a second. “Glad you’re happy.”

“Yeah, we’re real fucking happy,” Mickey agrees.

“No,” Mandy says. “Well, I mean, yeah, I’m glad you’re happy together. But I’m glad _you’re_ happy, Mickey. Just you.” She shrugs. “I’m glad Ian’s happy, too.”

Mickey huffs, eyes stinging a little. “Yeah, you love him more than me.”

Mandy leans a bit of her weight into him. “Maybe not.”

Mickey blinks hard, because he doesn’t want to cry right now. Even if they’re happy tears, he just doesn’t want to deal with it right now. He puts his arm around his sister. “Keeping up your end of the deal?” He asks.

She doesn’t have to ask what deal. He knows she remembers their little pact to be happy after Terry died. “Working on it,” she says truthfully.

“Good,” Mickey says. He doesn’t give her any shit about settling for anyone who isn’t good enough for her or all the times she’s dated assholes. He doesn’t want to cut her down right now.

Ian looks over at the two of them and smiles. Mickey juts his chin at him, feeling his own lips curl up in response, and Ian laughs a little. He doesn’t come over. He lets them have their moment; he’s always pushed for them to have more moments together. Mickey loves him so much he almost can’t breathe.

“Hey, you guys ready to cut your cake?” Fiona calls out. Debbie and Svetlana are carrying the cake together. It’s not a big, fancy thing like Mickey’s seen on TV, but it’s nice. It’s got two dudes on top, like action figure things for a wedding. That’s kind of stupid, but whatever. It’s a wedding cake. Maybe they’ll keep them and Mickey’ll make it like the Ian one is blowing him.

“You gonna smash it in Ian’s face?” Mandy asks, smirking.

“Nah,” Mickey says. Ian’s been quietly stressing about the cake all week. He’s back to his regular running routine without all the extra miles, and he’s eating whole meals again like he needs to, but dessert’s still tough for him. Mickey’s not going to shove it in his face and draw a bunch of attention to it when Ian’s going to have a hard enough time even making himself take a bite.

“He gonna shove it in yours?” Mandy asks.

Mickey snorts. “Probably not the cake.”

Mandy groans and shoves him and he’s still cackling when he gets up to Ian. Ian slips his arm around Mickey’s waist and gives him a squeeze. “Hi, husband,” he murmurs into Mickey’s hair. Mickey ducks his head a little, but he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi, husband,” he echoes. It’s cheesy and fuck and he doesn’t care at all. “Hey, can I just use that and be off the hook with babe and honey and all that shit?”

Ian laughs hard. “You know, that sounds really fucking good to me,” he says.

“Cut the cake!” Lip yells.

“This isn’t the kind of cake I want right now,” Ian tells Mickey in an undertone. He raises his eyebrows. “I meant your ass.”

“Thanks, I got it,” Mickey laughs. “Fuck, Gallagher, keep it in your pants for one more hour.” He says it like he’s not doing multiplication tables in his head to keep from getting hard right now. It’s not like they’re teenagers who need to get off ten times a day to function, but still. They just got fucking married. They want to bone it out.

“Are you gonna stand there whispering or you gonna cut the cake?” V asks, unimpressed.

“I want cake!” One of the twins says. Mickey _thinks_ it’s Amy. They started wearing their hair different so now he can almost tell them apart.

“What kind of cake is it?” Yevgeny asks.

“Who cares?” Liam asks. “Cake is cake.”

“Well,” Yevgeny starts, about to inevitably launch into his rundown of chocolate versus vanilla versus whatever the fuck flavor yellow cake is. He brings it up every time they have cake.

“Hush,” Mickey cuts in without any heat. “We’re cutting it.” He shrugs at Ian. “Go ahead.”

“No, you gotta help me,” Ian says, smiling goofily.

Mickey makes a face. “How’m I supposed to help you?” There’s only one knife.

Ian laughs. “Come on, Mick! Put your hands on top of mine and we’ll cut it together.”

“Jesus, okay,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes. This is only like the fourth wedding he’s ever been to, and one of the others was also his. They didn’t do this at his first wedding. Mickey fucked Ian beforehand and then got drunk and passed out after the dude pronounced them husband and wife.

Mickey catches Svetlana’s eye. She’s smiling, maybe a little wistful. He wonders if she’s wishing they’d had a better wedding day or if she’s thinking about that asshole who didn’t deserve her. She blows Mickey a kiss and he rolls his eyes again, making her laugh.

From this side of things, he regrets a lot of the shit he put her through. He doesn’t necessarily feel guilty, because he feels pretty fucking justified for being less than overjoyed about the whole thing, but he mostly regrets that they got put in that fucked up situation at all. She didn’t get a lot of choices in her life, either, and Mickey’s pretty sure she thought getting knocked up and married would mean the end of her worries or whatever. She tried being an actual wife, right at first. She’d bake shit for him sometimes, ask how his day went. It was like she thought if she pretended they were normal people they could magically turn into normal people. Maybe that could’ve happened if she’d gotten knocked up by some straight guy who didn’t get forced in it.

Either way, Mickey was a dick to her every step of the way, even a lot of the time after Ian came back from the Army. He was constantly making it clear to her that she didn’t matter to him, that he resented her and basically only tolerated her because he had to. Yet she was the only person who visited him while he was locked up, even after she put the divorce through. Sure, she was mostly doing it for the kid, but most of the time the kid didn’t say shit and she was the one making stilted conversation with Mickey. She let him come live with them when he got out, and she’s been on his side every step of the way while he’s worked on figuring out all his shit.

And now here she is, smiling at him, _happy_ for him, while he cuts his fucking wedding cake. Svetlana is probably the person who knows Mickey best outside of Ian and Mandy. She knows this is a big fucking deal for him, this marriage thing. She’s got to know how scared he is of fucking this one up like he fucked up theirs.

Obviously there are different circumstances, so maybe he won’t. He doesn’t know. But he’s pretty sure, whatever happens, she’ll stay on his side. She’ll have his back. She’ll kick his ass if she needs to, which is good. He needs that.

“Hey,” Ian says softly. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Mickey says, blinking himself back to attention. He puts his hands on top of Ian’s. “Let’s do this.”

Ian smiles and guides the knife into the cake. They cut out a little piece and Mickey picks up the fork Fiona laid out for him. Maybe he only puts a tiny bite of cake on the fork. Maybe Ian notices and melts over it. Maybe Mickey _should_ put a big-ass piece on the fork and make Ian eat it. But Mickey can’t do that. He can’t do something that’s gonna make Ian uncomfortable, not even for his own good, with all these people watching.

“Ready?” Ian asks. He laughs a little as he brings the fork to Mickey’s lips. “You need me to make airplane noises?”

“Shut the fuck up and feed me the cake,” Mickey says, unable to stop himself from laughing. He brings his fork up to Ian’s mouth and feeds him the bite. It’s not the first time he’s ever fed Ian something. Ian’s first depressive episode, right after Mickey came out, was full of Mickey force-feeding him. But Mickey’s even done it for just normal stuff; giving Ian a taste of something, trying to be funny, and even once when they were trying to be all romantic or what the fuck ever and fed each other strawberries. It was a colossal disaster, because the strawberries weren’t all the way ripe and they were so sour they were both shuddering, and they got fucking sticky strawberry juice all over the sheets. It looked like someone had stitches that opened back up.

Everybody claps after they finish their little bites of cake, and Ian leans forward and kisses Mickey. He tastes like frosting and they’re both smiling too hard for it to be a very good kiss. It’s still a good kiss, though. Mickey wouldn’t trade it.

“Alright, we’re not cutting pieces for all of you,” Ian says, making everyone laugh. “Get your own.”

Yevgeny runs up. “But can you cut a piece for _me_?”

“Just for you, little man,” Mickey promises. “Ian, get the man some cake.”

“My pleasure,” Ian says.

“A big piece,” Yevgeny requests.

“Did you eat a sandwich?” Ian checks.

“Yeah,” Yevgeny says. “Some.”

“How much?” Mickey asks.

Yevgeny sighs. “I ate the bread and I ate the cheese and lettuce but there was a tomato on it! I didn’t eat that.”

Mickey shrugs. “Alright, whatever.”

“How many brownies did you eat?” Ian asks.

“Um…” Yevgeny scrunches up his face. “Only like four.”

Mickey cracks up laughing. “That’s a lot of fucking brownies, kid.”

“Well, Fiona gave them to me.”

There’s no way Fiona gave him four brownies, but Mickey doesn’t fight him on it. Ian rolls his eyes a little, but he still hands Yevgeny the plate of cake. “You’re gonna crash so hard later,” Ian says fondly.

“Yeah,” Yevgeny agrees, even though he definitely doesn’t get what Ian’s saying. He runs off with his loot.

“You want a piece?” Mickey asks Ian.

Ian pushes a hand through his hair. “Hmm.”

Mickey can tell he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself by not having a piece of cake. But he also doesn’t really want one. Mickey wishes Ian didn’t have to spend every meal mentally fighting himself over shit like this. He wishes Ian could just eat whatever the fuck he wants and not have shitty brain issues from it. But he can’t. This is their reality.

“You want to share one?” Mickey offers. That works sometimes. Ian can take just a few bites without feeling guilty for wasting it, because he knows Mickey will eat the rest of it. Ian leans in a little and rests his forehead against Mickey’s.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“What’s mine is yours and yadda yadda, right?” Mickey says, winding an arm around Ian’s waist and giving him a squeeze. “Consider it the benefit of our marriage.”

That makes Ian laugh out loud. “I definitely only married you to share food.”

“Yeah, thought so.”

They sit together and share a slice of cake and even though Mickey was joking about this being the best part of their marriage, he’s still feeling pretty good about it so far. He knows it’s not all going to be sitting outside in the spring sun with their family eating cake, but still. It’s good.

They finish the cake, and make some more small talk, and then Ian says, “Can we go now?” His hand’s been steadily creeping up Mickey’s thigh for the last half hour, so Mickey’s completely on board.

“We’re going,” Mickey says to anyone within earshot. He doesn’t really care who hears. People will figure out they’re gone eventually.

“Off to bump uglies!” Carl yells. His girlfriend, who showed up about an hour ago, shakes her head at him. “What?” He says defensively. “They said it first.”

“What’s bump uglies?” Yevgeny asks, licking his fork. He’s definitely on his second or possibly third slice of cake, and Mickey is really fucking glad he and Ian got a hotel room for the night. Mandy and Svetlana can deal with the sugar crash and inevitable whining.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mickey says. Fiona jumps up and wraps one arm around each of their necks, bringing them in for a group hug so emphatically they almost knock heads.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” she murmurs, all choked up. She smacks a kiss on Ian’s cheek and then Mickey’s and pulls back, swiping at her eyes.

“Thanks, Fi,” Ian says, pulling her back in for another quick squeeze. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She gives Mickey a look. “ _Both_ of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey grumbles, shooting her a smile. “You too, I guess.” She laughs and shoves him. Debbie stands up to hug them, too, and Mickey forces himself to look her in the eye when he says, “Thanks for planning all this.”

“Mickey,” she says, clasping her hands over her heart. She throws her arms around him a little too quickly for him to hold back a flinch, but it’s okay. He doesn’t always have to hide his flinch, not around the family.

Lip comes over and gives Ian a hug, but he doesn’t try to hug Mickey. Good fucking thing. He does pat Mickey on the back and offer a hand to shake. Mickey’s not really a handshake kind of guy, but he goes with it. Then Carl does the same thing, and Liam looks all proud and grownup to get a handshake and Mickey can’t quite not laugh at him. Kev makes a big fucking deal of stooping down to hug Mickey and V gives him a little kiss on the cheek.

Mandy hugs Ian for a long time. She’s whispering shit in his ear and he’s whispering back and Mickey’s just standing there, feeling kind of stupid and like a third-wheel to his own sister and his _husband_. It gives him a little shiver to think it. He doesn’t _really_ feel like a third-wheel. Mandy and Ian have always had their own little bubble, and sometimes it used to bug Mickey, but it doesn’t anymore. He wants them both to have a special thing like that. And then Mandy comes to him and Mickey forgets and lingering third-wheel feeling.

“Proud of you,” she whispers in his ear. He just nods. His eyes are filling up with tears. He wants this for her. He wants her to be this happy. But he can’t really figure out how to say it without sounding like a dick who’s just bragging about getting married. They don’t hug for too long. Mickey doesn’t think he can. He’s not planning to burst into tears on his wedding day. Not until he’s alone with Ian, anyway.

Then it’s Svetlana’s turn, and Mickey gets choked up some more. “Thanks,” he whispers at her. “For…all of it.”

“You are good man,” she tells him, voice wobbling a little. She pulls Ian into their hug, too. “Family.”

“Family hug!” Yevgeny says, abandoning his cake for this. Mickey laughs, still feeling a little tearful.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Family hug.” He presses his hand to the top of Yevgeny’s little head, and when their big hug breaks up he crouches down and pulls the kid in again. “Love you, little man,” he says. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

“Where are you going?” Yevgeny asks.

“Me and Ian are going to sleep at a hotel tonight,” Mickey tells him. “’Cause we just got married.”

Yevgeny looks alarmed. “Are you gonna get your own house? What about me and Mama?”

“No, kid, no,” Mickey assures him, realizing they should’ve explained this earlier. “No, we’re not going anywhere. We’re just going tonight, and then we’ll be back tomorrow. That’s our home, huh?”

“Okay,” Yevgeny says, relieved. “Bye.” He runs over to give Ian a hug, too, and then Ian looks expectantly at Mickey and suddenly Mickey feels like someone just hit him in the chest. They’re _married_. This happened. It’s real. They’re about to ride off into the sunset or what the fuck ever.

“Shit,” he mutters. He’s starting to sweat a little. It’s obnoxious that his body goes into distress even over the good stuff.

“I know,” Ian says, smiling softly at him. He grabs Mickey’s hand.

Mickey clears his throat. He glances at Ian once and then he raises his voice. “Hey, uh, everybody.” He ignores the surprised look Ian’s giving him. “Just, uh…thanks for coming or whatever. Hope the party’s good after we leave, I guess. Thanks Debbie and Fiona and Mandy and Svet for planning this thing. We didn’t want a big thing that didn’t feel like us and you, uh…” He shrugs. “You did a good job.”

Ian’s got the biggest, proudest smile on his face. Mickey isn’t exactly known for his public speaking. And that probably doesn’t _really_ count as public speaking, but whatever. It’s the closest he’s ever gotten, anyway. Everybody claps and cheers as they walk out, holding hands, and Mickey feels kind of stupid but not totally bad. They hold hands all the way to the hotel, and Ian tells the guy at the checkout desk,

“This is our honeymoon.”

Mickey laughs a little, because he didn’t really think of it that way. They didn’t talk about a honeymoon. They both have to get back to work on Monday and they’re going to spend the rest of the weekend with Mandy before she leaves on Sunday. Even if they wanted to go somewhere, they’d have to stay in Illinois because Mickey’s still on parole. But he guesses Ian’s right. This is as much of a honeymoon as they’re getting.

“Congratulations,” the guy says in one of those voices that means it’s his job to say it but he really doesn’t give a shit either way. It makes Mickey laugh again. He likes getting that kind of non-response. This dude doesn’t care that they’re two guys. He just wants them out of his face so he can go back to whatever he was doing on his phone.

They splurged a little on this place. It has a fucking elevator, making it officially the nicest place Mickey’s ever spent a night. Ian used to stay in places like this all the time with the old dudes. He might’ve stayed at this actual hotel.

Mickey’s pretty sure he didn’t, though. He wouldn’t have chosen this place if he’d been with anyone else here. Mickey wouldn’t really have cared; it was a long-ass time ago, and at least if Ian had been here they’d know ahead of time it was definitely nice. But Ian cares about that kind of shit.

There’s a fucking heart made out of flower petals on the bed. Mickey can feel the face he’s making and Ian cracks up laughing at him.

“It’s nice!” He says. “I bet Lana told them it was our honeymoon. That’s what they were all whispering about all day. Look, Mick, there’s a bottle of champagne!”

“Shit, we should get married more often,” Mickey says.

“I’m down.”

They wind up on the bed, just looking at each other. “Hey,” Mickey says. “I know, uh, we didn’t do the whole big…vow thing. Speech.”

“Yeah, and I told you I’m fine with it.”

“Well, you said you didn’t want to do it with a bunch of people watching,” Mickey reminds him.

“Yeah,” Ian says, almost suspiciously.

“So…” Mickey shrugs, avoiding Ian’s gaze. “Wanna do it now? Just us?”

Ian puts his hand on Mickey’s cheek. “Mickey, I don’t need some big declaration. I know, okay? I know you love me. You say it, and you show it, and that’s more than enough for me.”

“Okay,” Mickey says. “Uh…” He laughs a little. “Maybe I wanna tell you?”

“Well, shit, Mickey, if you want to, I won’t stop you,” Ian says, grinning. He snuggles in closer. “You want me to move? Need me to go over there or something?”

“Nah,” Mickey says, wrapping his arms around Ian. “Got you right where I want you.”

Ian laughs. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Mickey has to take his time gathering his thoughts, and Ian doesn’t make a sound while he waits. Mickey keeps biting his lips. It’s stupid for him to be anxious about this. This is Ian, for fuck’s sake. Ian wasn’t just blowing smoke—he does know Mickey loves him. And it’s not like Mickey’s never given him any kind of declaration. He has. He does his best to tell Ian the stuff he loves about him every day, even if he just mentions Ian’s ass or the way he sucks dick. He _usually_ tries to make it more serious stuff, but Ian never complains when it’s that stuff, either.

Mickey takes a deep breath. He actually put some thought into what he would’ve said if they did vows. “Alright. Well. Obviously I, uh, didn’t ever expect any of this. I never expected to want to get married, you know? I went my whole life never thinking I’d ever have anyone who…loved me. And then we started fucking, and I didn’t let myself really fall for you or anything. Well, okay, I _tried_ not to let myself,” Mickey amends. He laughs a little. “I didn’t do a very good job. Anyway, I started giving a shit about you, but I still didn’t ever think I could have _this_. I was so fucking scared of my dad. I was scared to even _want_ this. And you just…” Mickey shakes his head. “You just made me see I could have it. I could have what I wanted. And then, you know, okay, that sorta went away for a while.”

Ian snorts. “Yeah, went away for a while.” He sounds a little bitter, and Mickey knows he’s mad at himself, but he closes his mouth after he says it, giving Mickey space to keep going.

“Maybe I’m not saying it right,” Mickey murmurs. “I’m bad at shit like this.”

“No, you’re not,” Ian promises. “You always say what you mean. Might take you a few tries, but you get there.”

They both laugh a little at that, but Mickey’s getting more and more emotional. “Well, you always figure out what I’m trying to say. You’ve always been the one…I mean, you’re the first person who ever _listened_ to me. I’d say shit, just running my mouth, and you fucking _remembered_. That was—I’d never had that before. And then when I was locked up…” Mickey sighs. “Sometimes I was so fucking mad at you. I’d tell myself I hated you, but that never actually happened. I was just hoping you were okay and safe. Getting your meds and everything. I guess I never really stopped loving you, no matter how hard I tried. And I’m so glad you chased after me when I got out. I’m glad we found each other again and…and this time we’re doing it right. We’re working on our shit and everything. So, uh, thank you, I guess. Seems kind of stupid to say, but, like…thank you for always coming back for me. Even when I’m being a dick and I’m saying the wrong shit. For, you know. Caring. Loving me. Staying.” Mickey drags his hand under his nose. He’s crying, obviously. There was no way he was going to get through this dry-eyed.

“Mickey,” Ian breathes, pressing closer to kiss him. He holds onto Mickey’s hand and keeps their lips pressed together and they just stay like that for a second, clinging.

“Sorry I can’t say it in front of anyone,” Mickey says.

“No,” Ian says. “I like it better when it’s just for me.”

Mickey huffs. “Like 90% of me is just for you.”

“Good,” Ian says. He brushes his thumb over Mickey’s for a minute, weighing his own words. He’s choked up when he speaks. “You know, you’re the one who always comes back for me, really. You had every reason to hate me and tell me to fuck off when you got out, but you didn’t. Well, you did at first, but not really. Mick, I don’t think there’s even words for how grateful I am you gave me another chance.” He sniffles a little. “It took me, I don’t know, three years to realize it, but when I got stable on my meds and was actually going to therapy and realized I’d really let you go…” He chuckles darkly. “God, Mickey, I couldn’t believe what a fucking idiot I was. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, back before, and you’re still the best thing that’s ever happened to me now. I was so scared I’d never have love like that again. I was scared I’d never find anyone who loved me that much, because even with all the bullshit we went through you loved me _so much_. I knew no one else could love me like that. But then I got you back. And you—Mickey, I can’t believe how amazing you are. I know you don’t always believe it, but you are. You work so fucking hard. And with Yev! You’re such a good fucking dad, Mickey. With everything you’ve been through, it’s crazy how incredible you are. I just…I’m glad I get to see it. I can see how you’re changing, but I see how you’re still you. I’m glad you’re safe now, and you can be who you always were. And I’m always gonna do my best to make sure you’re always safe and happy.”

They’re both bawling, and Mickey presses in close to kiss Ian. “I love you so fucking much,” Mickey chokes out.

“I love you, too,” Ian says. “You know what I realized? I think I…I never really realized how much you loved me. Before. I thought you were sticking around after my diagnosis because you felt like you had to. I think all along you loved me better than I loved you. You cared more but I thought I did. I didn’t give you enough credit. And even this time, there was something holding me back at first. I didn’t get it. I didn’t realize. You got such a big fucking heart, Mick.”

“I don’t think I loved you better than you did,” Mickey says, disbelieving. “Ian, I fucking told you I didn’t care. I said you were nothing but a mouth.”

“A warm mouth,” Ian amends with a wet little laugh. “Yeah, I know, but we _both_ know it was a fucking act, Mickey.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You made up for that, anyway,” Ian points out.

“Well you’ve made up for plenty,” Mickey shoots back. “I don’t want us focusing on all that shit from back then. We’re only talking about good stuff today. Save all the bad shit for fucking therapy.”

Ian laughs. It’s such a happy sound it makes Mickey’s chest swell. “Good idea,” Ian says, carding his fingers through Mickey’s hair. “We’ll talk about good stuff like your hair. And…” He kisses Mickey. “Your lips.” He kisses Mickey’s eyelids. “Your eyes.” He raises Mickey’s hand to his mouth and presses kisses on each of Mickey’s faded tattoos. “Your hands.” He smiles at Mickey, just looking at his face for a minute. “Your laugh. How grumpy you always fucking are. How you want to pretend you don’t care about anyone but really you love everyone and take care of everyone.”

“I only love and take care of you,” Mickey protests half-heartedly.

Ian shakes his head, still smiling. “Nope. Everybody knows you’re secretly a big softie.”

Mickey huffs, but he’s kind of pleased. He doesn’t mind everyone knowing that. “Alright, well, look who’s talking,” Mickey says, eyebrows raised. “ _You_ take care of everyone, Ian. The kid goes to you first when he’s got a problem, because he knows you can handle anything. You know how to fix shit. Not like… _stuff_ shit, like I do. You know how to fix people’s problems. You listen to everybody and you make everyone feel better. And you…” Mickey shrugs. He laughs a little. “You make this stupid fucking noise when you’re waking up. Like you’re a dog sniffing around. It’s so dumb. And I fucking love it.”

Ian cracks up. “What?”

“It’s real fucking cute.”

“Did you call me _cute_?” Ian hoots.

“Yeah,” Mickey says, brushing his lips against Ian’s. “I can do that ‘cause you’re my husband.”

“I am your husband,” Ian agrees, not laughing now. He’s still smiling, though, that soft smile that makes Mickey feel like crying, but in a good way. “And you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours,” Mickey promises, blushing a little. “Always will be.”

“I like that a whole fucking lot,” Ian says, clinging onto Mickey. He tugs at Mickey’s shirt, trying to get it off him while they’re both lying down. Mickey laughs at him a little but obliges as best he can while trying to return the favor. They don’t make it under the covers. Mickey’s never fucked on top of flower petals. It’s not great. He has like five rose petals stuck to his ass when they’re done. And he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s been crying the whole goddamn time, but Ian was a little, too, so Mickey doesn’t feel bad. Not that he ever really feels bad for crying when they have sex. Ian never makes him feel shitty about it.

They finally do make it under the covers, and they cling together as they’re falling asleep. “I love you, Mick,” Ian murmurs out sleepily.

“I love you, too,” Mickey says. He kisses the top of Ian’s head. “Forever.”

“Forever,” Ian agrees. Mickey falls asleep with a smile on his face, and he’s not sure it’ll ever go away.

 

Two weeks later, the shine still hasn’t gone off calling Ian his husband. Mickey thinks that’s probably normal. People talk about shit like that after they get married. But honestly, getting married really didn’t change their lives all that much. Ian put Mickey’s name on his bank account and now it’s a joint thing, but they were already sharing it anyway. They still fall asleep together every night when Ian’s not working overnights, and they wake up together when they get to. They kiss good morning and gripe about clothes on the floor and handle the kid and Svetlana and Mandy and Ian’s siblings. The only thing that’s really changed is Mickey works in the phrase _my husband_ as much as he can in any conversation. He used to do the same thing with Ian’s name, so that’s not even all that different.

“I know who your husband is,” Mandy says, cackling at him on the phone. “You fucking sap.”

“Shut up,” Mickey grumbles, blushing, but he’s not actually that embarrassed.

On the kid’s last day of school for the year, Mickey, Ian, and Svetlana all make sure to get the afternoon off. They’re trying to make it into a tradition. They all keep the afternoon free and pick the kid up together, then they go out for ice cream as a family. It’s kind of dorky, the sort of thing Mickey would’ve made fun of before. But underneath his mocking, there would have been a little pit of longing. He likes doing dorky family shit. And he’s starting to admit it.

“Hi!” Yevgeny calls out brightly, running across the blacktop even though there are like fifty million places it says not to run. His backpack’s thumping against his back as he runs but he doesn’t seem to mind. He throws his arms around Svetlana, then Ian, then Mickey, going down the line.

“Bye, Yevgeny!” Another little boy calls out. Yevgeny turns around to wave at him.

“Bye, Eric!” Yevgeny says. “He’s new,” he explains. “Eric, come meet my family!”

“New in the last week of school?” Ian asks. “That sucks.”

“He came last week, too,” Yevgeny says as the little boy comes toward them. “His mom said it would be good for him to come so he could make friends.”

“Did he?” Mickey asks.

“Well, _I’m_ his friend,” Yevgeny says. It fills up Mickey’s heart, the way his kid is always so quick to be sweet to everyone. This kid who cried because he was afraid of being a bully. It’s almost scary what Mickey would do for him.

“Hi,” Eric says, a little shy.

“This is Eric,” Yevgeny announces seriously. “Eric, this is my mama and my dad and Ian.” Yevgeny cocks his head. “Ian’s my stepdad.”

Mickey can see Ian smile over that. He might like hearing Yevgeny call him stepdad more than he likes Mickey calling him husband. _Maybe_.

“Should I call Ian Dad, too?” Yevgeny asks, the thought just now occurring to him. “Or Stepdad?”

“You can call me whatever you want,” Ian assures him.

“When did your mom marry him?” Eric asks.

“My mom didn’t marry him!” Yevgeny laughs. “My dad and Ian are gay.” Mickey doesn’t even flinch when he says it. Now that’s some fucking progress.

“My big brother is gay!” Eric says excitedly. “But he didn’t get married.”

“How old is he?” Ian asks.

“Ay,” Mickey says, nudging him with a faux glare. “You’re taken.” Ian snorts and rolls his eyes at Mickey.

“He’s nineteen. He’s in college,” Eric says proudly. “He wants to be in movies. My dad said that’s pretty dumb but okay.”

Mickey laughs. He agrees with Eric’s dad, personally. Yevgeny suddenly looks apprehensive. “Brad said my family isn’t real ‘cause my dad and Ian are gay,” he tells Eric. “So I punched him in the dick.”

It startles a laugh out of all three adults. “You didn’t tell me that,” Mickey says, cracking up. He’s probably not supposed to be proud of his kid for that, but he is.

Yevgeny shrugs. “Well, I did.” He turns back to Eric. “My family _is_ real,” he says firmly. “I’ll fight you if you think my family isn’t real, too.”

Eric looks mystified. “Not real like what?”

Yevgeny blinks. “I don’t know.”

Ian’s laughing a little bit, but he’s hiding it in Svetlana’s shoulder. Mickey, personally, thinks their confusion over the logic of homophobes is funny, sure, but mostly he’s so proud he could burst. His kid hates fighting, and he doesn’t want to be a bully, but he came charging in ready to swing if he had to.

“Zhenya, you can fight if you _must_ but don’t _ask_ for fighting,” Svetlana says.

“But Dad said it’s okay to fight if you’re sticking up for someone, especially your family!” Yevgeny defends himself.

“Well, Dad was right,” Ian says. “But that doesn’t mean you have to ask people right off the bat.”

“Why?” Yevgeny asks. “If I have to fight him sometime I should just get it over with.”

“Kid’s got a point,” Mickey says under his breath. Ian shrugs.

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” Ian admits. “Might end up in a lot of fights that way, though.”

“I love to fight,” Eric says. “I’ll fight anyone who wants to fight.”

“Oh, good,” Mickey says. “Yevgeny hates fighting. You guys can be friends and this guy can do all the fighting.”

“I’m not a pussy though,” Yevgeny says. “Dad says being nice is tougher than fighting all the time.”

Svetlana looks at Mickey with her eyebrows raised. “Do as I say and not what I do?”

Mickey flips her off. “Working on it.”

“Okay, we can be friends if you want,” Yevgeny says.

“Sure.” Eric shrugs. He scans the parking lot. “Oh, there’s my mom,” he says. “Bye!”

“Bye!” Yevgeny says as Eric runs off. He tips his head up and looks at his parents. “Are we getting ice cream now?”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “How you gonna be friends if we don’t know that kid’s mom and school’s out for summer?”

“What do you mean?” Yevgeny asks, slipping his hand into Mickey’s as they walk. “I said we could be friends and he said okay. So we’re friends.”

Ian snorts. “Yeah, Mick, that’s all it takes.”

“Alright,” Mickey says. “You finally stopped worrying about if our family’s real or whatever?”

“Yeah,” Yevgeny says. “Mama said it’s real even though it’s not normal. And that’s okay! We all love each other. So we’re a family anyway.”

Mickey looks over at Svetlana. She shrugs. “Is true,” she says.

Mickey looks down at the kid, walking along kind of humming to himself, and he looks at Svetlana, who used to be part of Mickey’s worst nightmare but now is one of the most important people in his life, and then he looks at Ian. Ian who’s…Ian. His _husband_. He wormed his way into Mickey’s life and his heart a hell of a long time ago, and now he couldn’t get out if he tried. He looks back at Mickey looking at him and he smiles. He takes Mickey’s other hand, and then he grabs Svetlana’s hand, too, so they’re taking up the whole sidewalk in an obnoxious chain.

“Yeah,” Mickey says, heart full. He gives Ian’s hand a squeeze and relishes the way Ian squeezes back. They love each other anyway. Despite the shit they’ve all been through, despite the shit they’ve put each other through, despite all the people telling them it’s weird or wrong. They work on it and they make it work. Mickey doesn’t fight his smile. “We’re a family anyway.”

So they take up the sidewalk and they walk off hand-in-hand to get ice cream, and they keep on being a family.

**Author's Note:**

> This has a somewhat final feel to it? But I have something in the works that can act as a sort of epilogue. I'm not saying the next piece will be the definitive end but I'm probably going to at least take a break for a while.
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com)


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